The Cyanide Flats Affair
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: THRUSH has decided to add cyanide processing to its list of business. With any luck, Napoleon and Illya can put them out of business before a truck load of D&Der's do it for them.


THE CYANIDE FLATS AFFAIR Charlene Kirby

PROLOGUE

The man leaned forward and turned off the television with an air of disappointment.

"Have you noticed how the shows get worse each year?"

"Yes, Parker, I've noticed." His wife didn't look up from her knitting. The failure of the BBC to keep its shows up to snuff was a popular complaint of her husband's. She took it as just part of his personality and the fact that his work was so complex that anything less than college level seemed infantile.

"I think I'm going to go work on the computer," Parker Payne mumbled, as he stood and stretched. "I've got to beat next week's lecture into shape." He kissed his wife and wandered into the back of the house.

It was true that the Royal Military School of Science took much of his time, almost to the point of where he'd nearly given up on his hobby of metallurgy.

He picked up a stack of disks and then he paused. Mixed in with the usual black disks, there was a blue one. Parker thought for a moment. He didn't remember anything like that and he'd stake his career on the fact that his wife had nothing to do with it. She'd long ago given up on dusting this room due to his need to have things left untouched.

"Well, no use wondering about it. Let's see what you are," he spoke to the disk as he slid it into the drive and booted up the machine.

Madelaine glanced up as her husband walked through the living room just a few moments later. "Parker, what's wrong? I thought you were going to work on your lecture."

"Car," he mumbled, stumbling against a chair.

"Is it off again?" She asked, her brow furrowing. She couldn't remember him mentioning it at dinner, but she said nothing more. No use letting her college lecturer husband know she was getting senile. "Don't be too late. I'm going up to bed. Good night, dear."

The man apparently didn't hear her, but continued on his way out to the garage. Madelaine frowned again. That wasn't like Parker to ignore her unless he had something on his mind. She dismissed it as she tucked away the sweater she'd been working on and went up to bed.

Madelaine didn't know exactly what woke her, but she was groggily aware of two things as she lay there. First, Parker wasn't with her, and second, she could hear a car's motor through the partially open window. An alarm went off in her head, making her leap from the bed and hurry downstairs, even without the nicety of putting on her robe.

Through the kitchen door, she could smell something acrid. The garage was full of the blue-white smoke that the car churned out. She coughed and waved at the air with her hand.

First things first, she made her way to the garage door and pulled it up, letting the crisp February air rush into the small space.

"Why on earth would Parker go away and leave the car running?" she wondered as she went back to the vehicle to shut it off. It wasn't until she got the driver's door open and saw her husband's lifeless body that she started to scream.

CHAPTER ONE

Napoleon Solo didn't bother to even wave good-bye to his partner's departing car. He was just too tired. Must be old age creeping up on him, he decided, choosing the elevator over the stairs. There was a time when the rigorous lifestyle he'd chosen as his career had just further stimulated his energies, but that was in the past. Now, he leaned against the wall and thought about how good bed was going to be tonight...well, actually today.

The moment he stepped out onto his floor, he knew something was wrong. His nose picked up the smell of plaster, new wood and paint, not necessarily in that order. Immediately, he walked quickly toward his apartment, only to stop dead in his tracks and sigh.

His apartment door was propped up against the frame, and a trail of sawdust, plaster and trash littered the floor leading from it. With a groan, Napoleon approached the door and peered into the dusty no-man's land that had once been his properly decorated, definitely masculine home.

"You can't go in there," came a challenging voice and Solo turned, keeping a tight rein on his temper.

"This used to be my apartment. Could you tell me who authorized this?" Beneath the steady gaze of the agent, the paint-splattered man began to wilt.

"Apartment manager, mister."

"We'll see about that." Napoleon deposited his suitcase inside the door and began a purposeful march to the manager's office.

"Afraid it's true, Mr. Solo." The apartment manager was sympathetic, but unmoving. "The go-ahead came from your boss, Mr. Waverly. He had a moving crew come out and take your things to a storage area."

"Did he happen to mention what I was supposed to do in the meantime?"

The manager fidgeted. This man made him nervous. Nervous when he had found out Solo was an international spy, even more so with his tenant's odd comings and goings. At any moment, he feared the agent might pull a gun or worse.

"He apparently wasn't expecting you back so soon. The decorator will be finished in just a few days, a week at the most."

"A week!" Solo stood and started for the door, only to stop. It was true that he and Illya had managed to wrap up this affair quicker than expected, due to incredible luck on their part and a heart attack on that of the chief THRUSH. "Can I borrow your phone?"

Illya Kuryakin didn't say much as he opened the door and permitted his partner to enter.

"I really appreciate this, Illya." Napoleon deposited his suitcase inside.

"Don't thank me now. Wait awhile until you're sure you want to. This is Brooklyn Heights after all, not Manhattan." The Russian stumbled back to his bed and crawled back under the sheets. He was dead to the world by the time Napoleon had lowered himself to the other side of the bed and climbed in.

It wasn't until Napoleon settled himself in that he realized what Illya meant. The only time he heard anything of the city outside his apartment was when he had a window open. Not so with Illya's studio. Napoleon could hear the traffic, the neighbors, everything. In spite of the noise, he managed to drift off.

He woke with a start when the phone rang. He'd obviously been asleep for quite awhile as night had fallen. In the darkness he was disoriented and it took another five rings of the phone for him to locate the instrument. Of course, it being buried beneath a pile of clothes didn't help.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Mr. Solo, I suspected I would locate you there." The voice of his superior did not register surprise. "Where is Mr. Kuryakin?"

Napoleon managed to find a lamp and squinted in the resulting brightness. "I don't see him, Sir. There aren't many places to hide here."

"Very well, we will try his communicator. Report to my office as soon as possible."

The line went dead in his hand and Solo looked at the phone with disgust. "And a good night to you too, sir." Solo climbed out of bed and glanced around the cramped little studio. A piece of paper stuck onto the refrigerator door caught his attention, but it proved to be just an article on subatomic particles.

Napoleon spent a sleepy moment trying to read it, then gave up and headed for the bathroom. Wherever Kuryakin was, Solo had total confidence that the man could handle himself.

Nearly an hour later, Napoleon paid off the taxi and crossed the street to Del Floria's Tailor Shop. The old man stood behind the counter, pressing a pair of pants, barely looking up at Solo's mumbled greeting. Napoleon pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the dressing booth. Less than a breath later, he blinked in the brightness of the reception area of UNCLE HQ-New York.

"Ah, the wandering agent returns." The brunette behind the desk reached for Solo's yellow badge and Napoleon leaned forward so that she could pin it on. He glanced down at the rack of badges and cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

"Mr. Kuryakin is in?"

"For nearly three hours. Mumbled something about someone snoring, but I really didn't catch it all. Mr. Waverly is waiting for you."

"How is he?" Napoleon asked, gesturing with his head.

"I think annoyed is a good word. We received an alert call in from London two hours ago and he's got a visitor. I'd step lightly."

"Thanks for the warning, Michelle." Napoleon smiled at her and she handed him a slip of paper.

"Someone called Ortho from Spectacular Homes called and wanted to know your feelings on granite. Didn't make sense to me."

"My apartment is being redecorated, thanks to The Powers That Be, namely Mr. Waverly. He must be the person in charge. Would you be a love and call him back for me? Granite is fine." He winked and then started the familiar path to Waverly's office, puzzling over how the receptionist could know so much about things while never leaving her desk.

He paused just before Waverly's door to adjust his tie. At the sound of footsteps, he looked up and smiled at his approaching partner.

"You keep tough hours," he murmured as Kuryakin pulled a jacket on over his turtleneck.

"You know Dr. Mansfield. An appointment is an appointment and he doesn't care where you are or what you are doing."

"Physical? Again?"

"Again," Kuryakin muttered. "You'd think he'd be happy by now. It's been nearly six months."

"Better safe than sorry. Wouldn't want you to have a relapse. Are you ready?"

"After you, my dear Alphonse." Illya gestured him forward and Solo squared his shoulders in preparation.

The door slid open as they approached, permitting them to enter the office of Section 1, No. 1 of UNCLE - New York. Waverly was seated at his communication panels, discussing the details of some affair. Seated at the round table was a stranger, obviously the one the receptionist had mentioned to Solo. He smiled at the black man and took his usual place at the table, Illya beside him.

"Ah, Mr. Solo, at last. And Mr. Kuryakin, I trust you are healthy."

"Yes, Sir," Illya said without a protest. He knew better than argue with Waverly.

"Gentlemen, this is Chief Inspector Anthony Yarbrough from Scotland Yard. Mr. Yarbrough, may I introduce our chief enforcement office Napoleon Solo and his second in command, Illya Kuryakin."

"Mr. Solo," Yarbrough said in a light British clip, extending a hand first to him, then to the Russian.

"Mr. Yarbrough, what can we help you with?"

"Tony, please. The Yard has a bit of a mess on our hands and we are at a loss as how to deal with it."

"What Mr. Yarbrough means is this, gentlemen. In the last ten months, seven scientists in Britain have died."

"Is that unusual?" Illya asked as he toyed with a pencil. "Science can be a high risk profession."

"It is when all are suspected of committing suicide," Yarbrough interrupted. "And when all were working for the same company."

"I think you'd better start at the beginning," Napoleon said softly.

Anthony Yarbrough rose to pace the length of Waverly's office nervously. "First death occurred August 5 with Van Dyke Dennette. He was a software engineer for a division of Thoitus Inc. He was found under a bridge, but they never really determined what killed him. Granted, we didn't know what was going to happen or there might have been more a thorough investigation."

Illya looked up from the notes he was jotting down. "This Thoitus is the company you were referring to?"

"Yes, every man worked either directly or indirectly with the company."

"Have you checked out the company?"

"Thoroughly, of so we thought."

"It sounds as though we may have to dig deeper. What about the other victims? He asked, returning to the unpleasant business at hand.

"Ah...Avery Stoddard was next. He was a computer systems analyst. We're sure he committed suicide."

"How can you be sure?"

"He's the only one we are sure of. He wasn't happy with his job, didn't have any family or friends. He tied the end of a rope to a tree and the other to his neck and then drove away..."

"Ugh," Illya muttered, making a face. "Messy way to kill yourself."

"But very sure. After him, Raleigh Pollard, computer expert, Dale Stamford, air defense system, Vincent Mallory, a Thoitus scientist, and Roger Stanley, a lab Tech for Britain's Atomic Energy Authority. All dead from apparent suicide and none of them apparently having any reason to, although there was suggestive evidence in a couple of cases."

"Such as?"

"One had a Dear John letter in his pocket."

"No reason to kill yourself," Napoleon said, smiling slightly as the man flopped into a chair.

"I quite agree, but people handle crises in their own fashion. The Yard is at a dead end. The people are screaming for a resolution, one way or the other and, frankly, so is the PM. I'd like to close this. That's why I'm here."

"I'm sure that these two young men can come up with something," Waverly said, laying down his pipe. "If there is anything to be learned, they are the ones who can do it."

"I'm relieved. Where do we go from here?"

CHAPTER TWO

"Where do we go from here?" Illya Kuryakin muttered, turning his face toward the rising sun and welcoming the warmth. At least Napoleon was on a plane, winging his way back to England with the intrepid Anthony Yarbrough, not stumbling around some deserted shell of a processing plant as he was doing.

He lifted his camera to his eye and squinted through the viewfinder at the distant building. Abruptly, with no word to anyone, Thoitus had suddenly abandoned its British offices and factories and settled themselves into the hills behind Virginia City, Nevada. Of course, with no real evidence to confront them with, the British authorities had been helpless to stop them.

The plant was a basic replica of the Cyanide Flats processing plant, the shell of which now hid Kuryakin. Built as a project by the CCC, it had employed 300 people in its heyday. By using a process, which included cyanide, the workers were able to glean gold from the tailings of the mines. Unfortunately, the work was dangerous and, in the end, not very profitable. The plant was abandoned in the 1950's, used for target practice by the nearby air base and later as a haven for hippies and who knew what else. Illya had been able to get that much from the computers back at UNCLE HQ. It had not prepared him for the actual sight.

Despite the numerous bombings, the substructure was still basically intact, the cement and steel reinforced walls, floors and ceilings holding out against America's finest. Illya could make out the concrete pads for the settling tanks, various hallways and shafts. It looked fairly safe, but unsalvageable, which was probably why Thoitus decided to build a second, near duplicate nearby as opposed to restoring the three-story building.

There was something going on in that far away building, but Illya was content to merely sit and observe for the moment. He wasn't about to take on the eight-foot, barbed wire fence, the German Shepherds or heavily armed guards for no man. Not until he was sure there was something to risk his life for.

Illya dropped the camera and slid his sunglasses back into place. He walked back up to the ledge where he left his supplies and sat down. The concrete was still cold, but he ignored it and concentrated instead on the thermos of coffee his hotel had been good enough to provide. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

Napoleon Solo rubbed his eyes wearily. This last trip had marked his third across the Atlantic in as many days. A clink drew his attention and he returned his hands to his lap before smiling at the newly widowed Madelaine Payne.

The women shakily returned the smile as she set the tea tray down on the table. Her husband has only been dead a few days and she still wasn't over the shock. Napoleon knew this and tempered his questions accordingly.

He accepted the offered cup and sipped carefully. It was too hot to drink, so he settled it on a knee and cleared his throat. "Was your husband working on anything special, Mrs. Payne?"

"Special? How do you mean?" Madelaine looked up from pouring her tea. "He told me he was working on a lecture for the school."

"School?"

"The Royal Military School of Science. He was a metallurgist as well as a lecturer."

"Metallurgist? Exactly what does that mean?"

"It's the science of extracting metal from ore."

And Thoitus just opened up a plant in Nevada for the same purpose. An alarm went off in Solo's head and he set the cup down on the table. "May I see your husband's study?"

"Of course. It's this way."

She led him out of the neat little parlor, down a photo-lined hallway and into the very eye of chaos. The study reminded Solo a little of his partner's apartment and he wondered if untidiness was the sign of a scientist. He looked around and spotted a computer.

"Was your husband working with his before...?"

"I imagine," Madelaine interrupted. "He kept all his notes on it. Said it would make him immortal when he..." Her voice caught and she backed up suddenly. "Excuse me." She hurried from the room and Napoleon sighed mentally. He had wanted the woman to leave, but not exactly like that. Alone now, he closed the door, then sat down at the computer and stared at it. Finally, he pulled out his communicator and held it to his lips.

"Open Channel D, please. Illya, are you there?"

"Kuryakin here. What is it, Napoleon?"

"Don't you sound chipper? How is Nevada?"

"Cold. What's up?"

"I found out an interesting little tidbit from Mrs. Payne. She's the wife of the latest victim. Seems her husband was a metallurgist."

"Hmmm, that fits in almost too conveniently, doesn't it?"

"My thoughts exactly." Solo was inwardly disappointed that Illya was so quick on the uptake, but what else would you expect from a Smart Russian? Illya's voice, tinny with distortion, interrupted his thoughts.

"You didn't call to tell me that, did you?"

"No, I'm sitting in front of a computer. Can you help?"

Illya Kuryakin sat up a little straighter at Solo's request and grinned. Trust Napoleon to be confronted by the one thing about modern society that confounded him. Illya brought the binoculars up to his eyes, letting Napoleon sweat for a minute. Finally, he sighed into the communicator.

"I can try. Have you turned it on yet?"

"I don't know what turns on a computer," came Solo's exasperated reply and Illya shook his head.

"The switch, Napoleon."

"Oh...okay, I've got it on."

"It'll probably go through its diagnostics first. Wait until it asks you about the date." Illya watched one of the guards pause before a sentry hut and pick up a phone. He sat up a bit straighter as the man actually looked at him. "I may have to leave in a minute or two, Napoleon. I think I've been spotted."

"Before that, what do I do?"

"What does it say at the top of the screen?"

"Diagnostics passed. Running DOS version 1.1"

"Hit the enter key twice and that should bring you to a to a menu program or a DOS prompt."

"A what?"

"A 'c' with a 'greater than' sign after it. Type in 'dir' then and, enter. Otherwise choose the number that precedes the 'Return to DOS' choice." A jeep pulled up at the distant gate and Illya turned to hide the communicator from view.

"Okay, it listed out a bunch of names."

"Those are file names. Anything interesting?"

"The one called Thoitus, you mean? How do I get to it?"

"Type in 'type' and then Thoitus and the extension. That's the three-letter word after it."

"Nothing but garbage on the screen."

The jeep started in his direction. "Make a copy of the file, Napoleon and I'll unscramble it later. It probably is protected in some way."

"How..."

"Ask Mrs. Payne. I've got to go or else I may end up in a processing vat." He closed the channel and tucked the pen into his shirt pocket.

His gun was safely hidden away in a nearby shaft, so he had nothing to fear on that aspect. Still, those men were armed and he wasn't sure what to expect. No way of telling until he met them, so he squared his shoulders and went down the cement stairs to face them.

"Morning, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

Napoleon Solo looked down at the pen in concern. Hopefully, Illya could talk his way out of the situation or he might be called back to the States sooner than expected. The door opened and a blue-tinted head poked in.

"Mr. Solo, is it all right if I come back in?"

"Of course," Napoleon said, standing and pulling the door open fully. "I thought you might want some privacy. I can imagine the pain you're going through."

"It's just that Parker spent so much of his time here."

"I understand." Napoleon looked back at the monitor. "Do you know anything about computers at all?"

"I'm afraid not. That was Parker's specialty. Mine is knitting." A sudden shout interrupted her and she smiled weakly. "But there's someone who can help you. In the study, Ray."

A slender, curly-haired man stuck his head in the door and grinned at her. "Mornin' Missus. P., anything I can get for you at the market?" Then he noticed Solo and his face took on a hard aspect. "And who might you be?"

"It's all right, Ray. This is Mr. Solo from the UNCLE. He's trying to help with Parker's death."

"Don't you go to upsettin' Missus P., do you hear?"

Napoleon could hear the physical threat in the man's voice. While Solo probably outweighed him by 20 pounds and stood a good four inches over him, he could tell the man had the determination and, possibly, the skill to put up a good fight.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Solo said, smiling and putting on his best pencil-pusher face. "I'm here to help, after all. We were just discussing computers."

"Then it must be a one-sided conversation. Missus. P. doesn't know anythin' about them." He looked apologetically at the woman, who just smiled obligingly.

"That's what I was telling Mr. Solo. But you do, Ray, and maybe you can help him."

"I can try. Whacha need?" The man's eyes were still guarded, but he'd apparently decided that Solo posed no immediate threat.

"Basically, just a copy of a file."

"Sounds harmless enough." Ray sat down at the keyboard and made a face. "What is this garbage?" He picked up a wad of deformed, melted blue plastic that sat beside an external disk drive.

"Oh, you know Parker, Ray. He was always picking something odd up."

Solo glanced at the object in question, noting it for future reference. In all honesty, his thoughts were more with his partner than with the conversation in the room.

Illya stood, brushing his jeans off, and took a threatening step forward, only to stop at the sight of a very lethal looking Lugar.

"Remember this, painter boy, you keep clear of Thoitus's property and watch your step. Or we'll come back and paint the concrete with your brains. Do you understand me?" Don Bates snarled at the blond, relishing his bullying role. At the silence, he reached out and grabbed a handful of tee shirt. "I asked you if you understood me?"

"Yes sir," Illya stammered, doing his best to put the fear of God into his voice. In all reality, he intended to take care of this guard personally when the time came. Meanwhile, he played his role.

Bates laughed and pushed Illya back to the ground, wincing as he fell onto a rock. The jeep sped away, kicking a cloud of dust and stones back towards the Russian, as if in final insult.

Illya rose slowly, taking deep breaths to rid his body of the adrenalin that pumped through it. A good agent had to know how to fight and when. This was not the time. His cover was still too valuable to risk losing. He brushed the seat of his pants off and rubbed at the stone bruise and then he bent to retrieve the scattered art material. He winced at the resulting pain and he had the feeling that the concrete he'd been sitting on wasn't going to be any more comfortable now.

Still, the confrontation had provided some information. Thoitus didn't want anyone to get close to their plant, and something else too. Illya had been involved in this game too long to not realize that those guards were professional, violent and THRUSH.

CHAPTER THREE

Illya Kuryakin relaxed in the tub of hot soapy water and reflected back upon the day's events. He'd managed to establish his cover as an artist and had drawn the attention of some obvious THRUSH strong arms. That meant he was close and soon he'd have to consider an assault against the Thoitus plant. It was not something he was looking forward to doing alone.

A chirp from his communicator broke his train of thought and he stretched over the edge of the tub to grab the instrument.

"Kuryakin."

"Good morning," came his partner's voice.

"You mean, good night." Illya smiled in spite of himself.

"Whichever applies to your time zone. How is it going with you?"

"Aside from a few bruises, fine."

"Didn't know you could get bruises from just sitting around making like Van Gogh."

"Got roughed up by a couple of Thoitus's guards. They are definitely keeping everyone away from their property. If the electric fence and dogs don't do it, they have a batch of trained gorillas passing as men. They wanted me to be very sure I knew to stay clear of the new facility."

"Very interesting. Should warrant a closer look."

"Agreed," Illya admitted, sitting up a little to reach for his glass of vodka. "It's not something to do solo."

"How about with a Solo? I'm just about finished here. I can stop in New York, drop off the computer disks and be there by tomorrow night."

"Fine, I'll make reservations for you. Until then, I'll try to behave myself."

"It'll be a first. Solo out."

Napoleon Solo tucked the last computer disk into a case and put it into his briefcase.

"I appreciate your cooperation in all of this, Mrs. Payne. Perhaps your husband's death will help us prevent others."

"That would help, to know he didn't die in vain." The woman brushed at her apron and smiled weakly.

"I'll see Mr. Solo out," Ray stood and nodded to the door. Solo rose and offered his hand to the woman.

"Again, our thanks."

Solo followed Ray to the hall door, his mind already racing to the next step in this case, and nearly walked into the still-closed door. He came to an abrupt stop, and then turned to calmly regard the curly-haired Britton.

"Is there a problem?"

"You won't be back, will you?" It was not as much a question as a command.

Napoleon remained silent for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think so, but I can't promise anything. It'll depend upon what we can turn up on these disks."

"Just who exactly are you, Mr. Solo?"

"I could ask you the same."

"You could, but I wouldn't answer."

"Neither will I. Good day, sir." Napoleon opened the door and closed it quickly behind him. If the man was considering following him, it wasn't apparent. As Napoleon walked to the car, he could feel the man's eyes bore a hole in his back and silently made a note to check the man's ID once he got back to New York.

"I think I'd like to have the chilled Pate Maison as an appetizer, followed by the soup and the roast duckling as an entree." Illya pulled his glasses off and tucked them into the tee shirt's breast pocket. The woman before him hastily scribbled down his order, then looked up to smile warmly at him.

"Would you care for some wine this evening?"

"The Clos du Val Zinfandel."

"Excellent choice. Thank you, sir."

"Thank you." Illya waited until she left, then turned his attention back to the 'Gold Hill Hotel' newspaper, which not only served as a menu, but also provided information about the hotel, its staff and various activities. It was the back page that drew his attention. It concerned a hiking group that had daily treks through the area.

The waitress reappeared with a bottle of wine and proceeded to open it. Illya glanced up at her, and then lowered the paper.

"This hiking group you mention in your paper. Do they just hike the immediate area?"

"Yes, sir, except on Wednesday. That's for serious hikers. They tend to hike the hills further back."

"As in the American Flats area?" Illya was all attention.

"I don't think they've gone in that area yet, but generally speaking, yes." The cork came out with a slight pop and the waitress set the bottle aside. "Shall I let that breathe, sir?"

"Yes, thank you. How receptive are they to suggestions?"

"Very. Don is always looking for new ground to cover, in a manner of speaking." She tucked the corkscrew into her apron pocket and smoothed it down. "Don's the organizer and he's usually in the bar this time of night. Would you care to have me to point him out after dinner?"

"That would be very helpful, thank you." Illya smiled, warmly, and watched the woman blush slightly. He vowed to himself to never use this power for evil intent.

"I'll...be right back with your appetizer," she murmured, swallowing. She nearly backed into a serving tray before hurrying away. Napoleon probably would make the most of this situation and Illya decided to follow suit. Certainly would beat studying his notes.

Chapter Four

Napoleon Solo rounded the corner carefully, ever mindful of the sudden hundred-foot drop off just beyond the side of the road. He'd seen a lot of crazy roads in his time, but this one took the cake. The people of Nevada might have been excellent miners, but they sure left something to be desired as road builders. Just by the bend, he saw a small building with a sign proclaiming, "Gold Hill Inn".

The building showed definite signs of age and Napoleon began to wonder if Illya was actually putting one over on him. It would be just like the Russian to have a room in town, but get one here for his more refined partner.

He pulled the rental car up onto a patch of dirt that served as a parking lot and stopped, pausing a moment before climbing out into the chilly morning air. After looking around for a moment, he decided that the stairs were the best course of action.

The stairs were incredibly narrow and he wondered how anyone could navigate them. To the right was a sign proclaiming 'lobby', much to Solo's great relief.

"Here you are, sir." The manager opened the door to reveal a beautifully decorated room. Despite the shabby outside of the building, the inside was clean and charming. "Your friend is in Room 7 just down the hall. We serve a continental breakfast in the lounge every morning and the dining room opens at 11:30 for lunch, 5:30 for dinner. If there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know."

"Thank you very much." Napoleon waited until the manager had left before moving into the room and looking around. It was a good representation of an 1890's room, which meant no TV, no clocks and no radio. It certainly would be nice and quiet, something his jet-lagged nerves could appreciate. He set the suitcase on a nearby chair and slung his briefcase beneath it. He pulled off his suit jacket and laid it neatly on the corner of the bed.

The sound of voices drew him to one of the Chantilly lace curtains and he looked out onto the hills behind the hotel. A group of people was descending the rock and dirt face of the hill, and as Solo concentrated, he was sure he picked out Kuryakin's familiar form. As they drew closer, he saw that he was right. The blond was dusty, sweaty, and tanned, but definitely his partner. He was busy talking to a man, but glanced up suddenly and caught Solo's eye. He jerked his head towards his partner and smiled.

Solo pulled back out of view of anyone else that might follow the direction of his partner's glance and returned to his unpacking. He liked to totally unpack his suitcase. It gave him a feeling of being settled, if only for a little while.

A soft knock at the door a short time later interrupted him and Napoleon moved to it, gun drawn, carefully keeping to one side.

"Yes?"

"Napoleon, open up," came the Russian-accented voice.

Solo grinned as he holstered his P-38. He opened the door and gestured in. "Welcome to Inner Sanctum."

Illya brushed past him and moved to the window that Solo had stood at. He peered around the frame, totally ignoring Solo.

"And how was your flight, Napoleon?" Solo said, glaring at him and closing the door. "It was fine, thank you, Illya. So nice of you to ask."

"Huh?" The blond head swiveled in his direction, then made a face. "Sorry, but business comes before social amenities."

Solo was suddenly all attention. "Trouble?"

"Yeah, come here." Illya waited until Solo joined him, then nodded at a very large, very impressive-looking man who was walking towards a parked car. "We picked that guy up at the Thoitus plant."

"What were you doing there?"

"That group I was with is a hiking club. I persuaded the leader to hike past the plant. Got some really good shots, but unfortunately we picked up a tail."

"Recognize you?" Solo stared out at the man.

"I think he might be one of the guards that roughed me up a while ago, but I'm not really sure." Illya studied the man, brow furrowed in thought. "I had the sun in my eyes at the time."

"Shall we go down and find out?"

"I'd rather not force my hand, unless I have to. He'd have to be really stupid to try something here. Besides, he's leaving." The man had climbed into the passenger's side of the car and it had roared away.

"THRUSH operatives aren't known for their high IQs, Illya. I have more intelligent socks."

"Agreed." Illya pulled away and looked about the room. "Did you bring the disks?"

Napoleon went over to his suitcase and opened it. Shifting some shirts, he pulled out a thin cardboard envelope.

"Your disks, senor, but I don't know what good they'll be without a computer."

"Not to worry, I'll just drive into Reno and use a computer at UNR." He turned the envelope in his hand and nodded. "If there's anything on this, I'll find it. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to grab a shower."

"Why," Solo asked, with a smile on his lips. "Big date?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Illya had the satisfaction of watching Solo's face go blank as he pulled the door closed behind him.

"This is the Piper Opera House. Used to have all the big bands here, but that was before my time." Lindeann Nugget gestured to the framed posters that decorated the walls of faded velvet. Beneath the facade of tour guide, she was quite impressed with herself. Not only had she managed to capture the attention of Illya, but that of the dark-haired, dark-featured that had joined him. The man sent a dozen admiring, inquiring glances in her direction, despite the warning looks from Kuryakin. She rather liked being the center of attention.

"It's hard for me to believe that there was enough culture in Virginia City, not to mention people to support something like this," Napoleon said, shaking his head in awe at the structure. "This place is immense."

"I agree, but in its heyday, Virginia City was home to over a quarter of a million people. This place also doubled as a skating rink, music hall, town hall, you name it. You probably don't know this, but it was the silver from here that rebuilt San Francisco after the great quake and fire, not the gold from California. With wealth comes culture, or so many rich people think."

A woman, her straw-colored hair piled high upon her head approached the small group and held her arms out. "Lindeann, so good to see you. How is your mother? Father?"

Napoleon noticed that Illya had been pulling back from the group since they had started their tour of this grand old building and now that man's head gestures pulled Solo to his side.

"Something wrong? Don't tell me you're getting cold feet."

"It should be that easy." Illya kept his back to the door as a few people drifted in and out, including the man they'd seen from the hotel. "My tail is back. What do you think I should do?"

Solo glanced easily over at the hardened, dark features of the man and smiled easily. "He's your tail. I leave the disposal up to you."

Illya smiled slightly, nodded to his partner and headed from the room. After a few seconds, the tail followed.

"Where's Illya?" Lindeann's eyes searched the room for the blond.

"Our poor Mr. Kuryakin is slightly operaphobic."

"Come again?"

"He has a fear of opera."

"Oh." The hazel eyes were clouded for a moment and then she nodded wisely. "You mean he had to use the little boy's room."

"Well, the last thing I'd accuse Mr. Kuryakin of being is a little boy, but essentially, yes." And how little boys love to fight, he added mentally.

Don Bates walked from the Piper Opera House with a purposeful stride, and he did have a purpose, to take some scrawny little twit and tie him into a large knot - or better, lots of small ones. The creep had been hanging around too close to the plant ever since yesterday and his boss was getting worried. Not that that painter boy really posed a threat, but he was persistent and that usually meant something more dangerous. Bates glanced around, looking for his intended victim, when he heard a slight cough and an "Excuse me?"

He went to turn and caught a fist right in the mouth. He fell back with the blow and staggered to keep upright. He got his footing and looked up at his attacker. Surprise filled his eyes when he saw who stood there.

"Hello there, my name is Illya and I paint for a living - do you remember me?" Illya wiggled his fingers at the man. "I also happen to teach s variety of martial arts to make my house payments. You have been pestering me for the last two days now and I'm getting rather tired of it. Will you be a good boy and leave or do I have to give you some of your own medicine?"

"Go to hell, painter boy."

"Oh, that was decided for me many years ago. How about if I see you there?" Illya's face became hard and he took a step forward.

Don didn't feel particularly threatened by the smaller man. The fool had been fortunate enough to get the drop on him before. Now the shoe was on the other foot and he'd mop up the place with this wimp. After all, his boss said keep an eye on him, but he never mentioned whether the man had to be alive or dead. Yup, it was just about lights out time for this painter boy.

Surprisingly enough, that was still Don's frame of mind just before Illya effortlessly snapped his neck.

Napoleon Solo glanced towards the staircase just as Illya reached the top. He looked rumpled, a bit bloodied and definitely pleased with himself. Solo nodded politely to Lindeann and walked quickly to his partner.

"Haven't you found it yet?" he asked, grabbing Illya by an arm and spinning him around before their delightful tour guide had a chance to see his condition.

"What?"

Napoleon propelled his partner into the men's room and followed behind. "Sorry, but I thought you'd like to clean up before someone saw you and connected you with a corpse. I assume he **is** now a corpse."

"Most assuredly," Illya said, mopping at his face with a damp paper towel. "I wouldn't worry about anyone finding our dearly departed too quickly though, not unless they plan to open that mine anytime soon. I like it here, Napoleon, they have all these neat little places to stuff things."

"I'll bet they do," Napoleon mumbled as he brushed at the back of Illya's shirt with his hand. "Did he do much damage? Looks like you're going to have a black eye tomorrow."

"Didn't get out of the way that time. The sad part was that I don't think he ever once considered me much of a threat." Illya examined his face closely in the mirror and then tossed the crumpled paper towel into a trashcan. "Even up to the point when I killed him. Of course, now we have another problem on our hands."

Solo nodded, "He's gone and you're still here. That does make a rather definite statement. Did he know who you are?"

"No, and I even introduced myself. Not the faintest glimmer of recognition in the beady little eyes. Either he wasn't THRUSH, didn't do his homework or I'm beginning to lose my edge."

"Speaking of edges, I think I'll go check on our dear guide. Would hate to have her run off."

"Agreed. I'll be right out."

"No rush. I'll tend to things until you get back."

"That's what scares me."

Chapter Five

Illya Kuryakin ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. While he enjoyed working with computers, they could be a never-ending source of frustration. The door to the computer room opened and drew Illya's immediate attention. Ever since he'd disposed of his last tail, he'd been jumpy. It would just be a matter of time, before Thoitus put two and two together and came up with six feet under. Napoleon walked in carrying two cups of coffee and a grin.

"Anything?" He settled into a chair beside Kuryakin.

"No, it's here, but I can't get into it."

"Sounds rather like a couple of women I've dated," Solo quipped good-naturedly. At Kuryakin's frown, Napoleon sobered and sipped his coffee. "When did you finally get in last night?"

"Late, thank you." Illya rubbed his forehead, careful to avoid a bruise around his left eye. "I need a password to get into this file. Can you think of anything? Some common word."

"Why common?"

"Because while scientists are notably intelligent, they also tend to be distracted easily. I would gamble that our dear Mr. Payne fell into that category."

"Sounds reasonable. Wife's name is Madelaine."

"Nope."

"Thoitus?"

"Uh huh. Try again."

Solo thought for a moment, and then said, "Raymond."

"Raymond?"

"Guy who lives down their street. I had the impression he spent lots of time there."

"Sounds possible." Illya tapped a few keys and broke into an uncharacteristic grin. "Bingo."

"Great, now what?" Napoleon set down his cup and leaned over Kuryakin's shoulder, not even trying to pretend he understood what his partner was punching onto the screen.

"Maybe nothing, but we might be able to read his files now. This next command should let us see what's in here, providing it isn't in binary."

"A special code, huh?"

"Not really, all computers work in binary. Pretty logical if you think about it."

Diagrams popped up on the screen, figures and letters moving at an incredible speed. Illya hit a key and the screen froze.

"What did you do?"

"'Control S' stops the screen, 'Control Q' starts it again." Illya read, shaking his head and taking a gulp of his coffee. "These are mathematical and chemical equations."

"Understand them enough to give us an idea of what Payne was working on for Thoitus?"

"Turn that printer on for me and I'll print out the file. I'm going to have to study these," he tapped the screen with his glasses, "later."

Napoleon stood, smiling graciously at the Russian. "Good. Now, how about some dinner?"

"Any particular place in mind?" Illya tucked his glasses away and stretched his arms.

Solo eyed him critically and then shook his head. "Certainly no place too fancy, not with your current and usual flair for being under dressed."

Illya glanced down at his tee shirt. "It's clean and in good repair, and so are my pants."

"Never mind, Illya. Why don't we just look around and see if we can find something that suits our fancy?"

"Sounds good. Now, would you please turn the printer on before the professor remembers I was supposed to be out of here ten minutes ago?"

"Oh, sorry." Napoleon walked over to the printer and glanced at it for an obvious switch. Not finding one, he started feeling around the bottom of the machine. Just as he was giving up hope, his fingers found a switch and he punched it. "Success at last."

"Savor it, it could be our last for a while."

Napoleon Solo buried himself in mounds of sheets and blankets, doing his best to ignore the light that tried to trickle in. His inner clock complained that it couldn't be morning already. He'd only gone to bed moments before. Then a hand shook his shoulder and he gradually became aware of his name being whispered.

"Wake up, Napoleon," came Illya's soft plea.

"Unless you're here to tell me that there's a beautiful woman outside my door or that World War III has started, leave me alone," Solo muttered, digging his way clear of the bedding.

"How about rocket fuel?"

"What about it?"

"Apparently that's what Payne was working on just before he was killed. The file had been accessed just the afternoon before."

"I told you not to eat that ice cream thing. You're having nightmares. There's nothing secretive about rocket fuel. It's been around for years."

"This one uses a cyanide base to it, which is why there's a plant at Virginia City. They're using cyanide to process the gold out of the mining tailings."

Solo sat up and rubbed an eye. "So why kill Parker? Or any of the others for that matter?"

"I don't know. It doesn't make any sense." Illya sat on the edge of the bed and Solo noticed how drawn and tired his face was.

"But why kill the scientists? And why make all seven deaths to look like suicide? That's nearly impossible."

"Unless there was a favor bought up the line."

"In all seven circumstances? I don't think so." Napoleon leaned back against the goose-down pillows and thought. "How do you convince a normal healthy happy person to suddenly take his own life?"

"Number of ways," Illya muttered, rubbing his neck. "There's hypnotism, subliminal suggestion, threats of blackmail, personal or financial."

"Do something for me."

"If humanly possible."

"Get a hold of our Mr. Yarborough and find out if any of the other scientists were using their computers just before their deaths. There was this wad of blue plastic by Payne's computer and no one seemed to know what it was or how it got there. I have this little bell ringing in the back of my head and it could be signaling something."

"Could be one too many whacks to the head too," Illya said, smiling slightly. "I'll go call home and see if they can get me a direct line to Yarborough."

"Do us both a favor and get some sleep first. Having you collapse during a high speed chase is the last thing I need."

"Me too. Good night, Napoleon."

But it wasn't a good night for Napoleon. He kept seeing Mrs. Payne's face over and over in his mind, the hopeless, washed-out features, and the dead, tired eyes. It just didn't seem fair.

By the time the first fingers of dawn crept over the nearby mountains, Napoleon had been up for an hour, first to shower and shave, then to sit and stare at his notes. It was infuriating. What caused seven normal men to take their lives?

He got up and walked to a window, watching the surrounding valley glow gold with the morning sun. A distant figure was running along the edge of the road, apparently an early morning jogger. More ambition than he had, Napoleon decided. He didn't mind exercise, but...his mind was thrown off the track as a car thundered by the hotel. It was strange for a vehicle to be going that fast on the treacherous curves though Virginia City. The place had been designed for horses, not horsepower.

Solo stared after the car, committed the license plate to memory and then glanced up at the jogger. It was obvious that he either didn't hear the car or wasn't worried about it. Still, that car was hugging the edge of the road like the death grip of a python and. Suddenly, alarms went off in Solo's head as he recognized his partner and he grabbed at the window, in an effort to lift the bottom pane. He struggled with it, setting every bit of strength he had against it, but the warped wood and paint held firm.

The car rounded the last corner and Napoleon was sure a collision with the jogger, now knowing it to be his partner, was imminent. Yet, at the last second, Illya became aware of the car and threw himself down into a drainage ditch. Knees weak with relief, Solo watched him climb from the depression and shake his fist after the disappearing car. Grabbing his jacket, Solo hurried from his room, negotiating the narrow staircase quickly.

He found the lobby door open and ran outside, looking about in the early morning light for any returning sign of the car.

Illya was just coming over the last crest before the hotel, walking in the grass by the side of the road, casting furtive glances over his shoulder. At the sight of Napoleon, he quickened his steps a little.

"Are you okay?" Napoleon asked, as soon as the blond was within hearing distance.

"You saw?" Illya brushed hair from a sweaty brow as he approached. "It was close."

"Too close. I just wonder if it was just some lunatic or THOITUS starting to play hard ball."

"I don't know. The driver didn't seem to even notice me." Together, the two walked back to the hotel's porch and Illya sank down onto a worn, wooden stair.

"I want you to take me to the processing plant," Napoleon said quietly. "I'm starting to get very, very interested in seeing it."

Chapter Six

Napoleon Solo carefully picked his way through the fallen debris of what had once been a cement wall. When this plant had been in its heyday, it must have been just as imposing as the distant Thoitus building.

"Where do all these tunnels go?" he asked seemingly no one. A blond head appeared near his foot and Solo jumped slightly.

"Mostly they just run back and forth throughout and between the buildings."

"And the circular areas down there?" Napoleon pointed to round, gravel-filled concrete ovals.

"Those were pads for the settling tanks. The big three-story structure behind you was the crusher building. The smaller one to your right was administrative. Behind it is some sort of an enclosed room, with just an opening from the top. Haven't a clue what they used that for."

"How close do you think the Thoitus plant is to this in make up?" Napoleon bent and picked up a brown cup-like item.

"It would have the same basic structure, but the layout is as much your guess as mine. It was used to hold the ore." He indicated the cup before turning his attention back to the distant plant.

"I don't relish taking them on their home turf, but I think it'll be the only way to get to the head man."

"And possibly get some questions answered on suicide, including our own." Illya picked up a stone and tossed it at a graffiti-covered wall, then straightened slightly. "Oh, I forgot to mention, I had a call from Yarborough this morning. Said he did his best, but they just couldn't be certain all seven scientists had been at a computer. Especially the one who disappeared on the sub."

"Well, that one we can pretty much forget about. I was more interested in the ones on land. There was this blue lump of something that was sitting right beside some other disks. It looked like it had been melted or something."

"I'll tell him to try again and pass on what you just told me..." The blond trailed off, staring into the distance.

"What's wrong?" Napoleon followed the direction of Illya's gaze. "Oh, company. I guess we play it carefully and hope they aren't into shooting. In the meantime, I think we should take some casual cover." Quickly, but carefully, they took refuge behind a pile of crumbled concrete.

A brown sedan pulled up and four people climbed out from behind the two doors.

"Okay, first off, let's get the main room cleaned out." The leader, a tall lanky man, directed as he walked around to the trunk and began lifting out boxes. "Dale, try to find a way to the second floor."

"Right-o," saluted Dale and he immediately disappeared around the corner of the building. The only girl turned and Napoleon grinned over at Kuryakin.

"Looks like we don't have to worry about this lot," he said as he watch Lindeann carry a box to the administration building.

"But what are they doing? Cleaning up? It doesn't make sense."

"Let's go find out." Napoleon brushed his hands off and stood up. With a sigh, Illya followed.

Lindeann happened to glance over as they approached and grinned. "Boy, talk about a small world." She settled the box onto the chest-level floor of the building and wiped her hands on her nearly negligible cut offs. "Hey, Tracy, we have more help."

The tall man looked concerned for a moment and then pushed his sunglasses back onto his light brown hair. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Will you stop being so paranoid? This is Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin. They're staying at the Gold Hill Inn."

"Oh, so you're the one my sister keeps going on about." Tracy shook Illya's hand, then Solo's. "And you're the other one. I guess you're all right. Here, take a box. Guy, will you scout out a good treasure room?"

"Exactly what are you doing?" Illya asked as he followed Lindeann, carrying his box easily.

She tossed her rake and broom in after the box and tried to climb the five-foot lip gracefully. "A D&D game."

Illya set down his carton and hefted himself up onto the ledge easily, then bent to offer her a hand up. "What's that?"

"God, where did you say you were from? Everyone knows what D&D is. It stands for Dungeons and Dragons and it's like a board game, but the dungeon master makes up the game as it goes. This is a much bigger version. We turn this place," she gestured to the ruins of the processing plant, "into a dungeon, complete with booby-traps, monsters and treasure."

"I see." Illya didn't see, but decided any further information wouldn't help matters much. Dale was on the second floor of the roof-less building, hanging over the edge and painting a symbol. "And he's?"

"This is where the dungeon master will stay. The players will come here for directions. Tracy is the DM. Dale is painting a symbol with glow-in-the-dark paint. When he hears someone coming, he'll shine a flashlight on it for a second."

Napoleon joined them and squinted up at Dale. "What's he doing?"

"That's where the DM stands, Napoleon," Illya said, matter-of-factly.

"Oh..."

"I hope you guys didn't mind me volunteering you to help." Lindeann looked from one to the other. "It's just that many hands make for light work. Besides, the more people, the less likely those baboons from next door will bother us."

"Been having problems with them?" Napoleon picked up a shovel and began to push a pile of debris out of a back door.

"Yeah, they've been making it really tough on us. American Flats is a really popular place with people our age. It's got some really secluded love-making spots." She looked at Illya, who was still watching Dale. "It's also good for our games, cook outs, lots of things. I just like to come up here and think. Anyhow, when they moved in, they immediately put up fences blocking off the road to here."

"Didn't stop us though, did it?" Tracy came up behind her and slapped her on the butt. "We broke the fence down and came right back in. They got tough and roughed up a couple of kids. Big mistake on Thoitus's part."

"Yeah, their folks went to Carson and got an ordinance passed that said that American Flats couldn't be fenced off, that it was on public land. Then, the kids turned around and sued Thoitus for damages." Lindeann hefted a chunk of cement and hauled it over to the back door. "They ended up paying big time, but because of that, they watch us all the time now."

Dale set the paintbrush down and wiped his hands on a rag. "The only problem is that we can't keep them off this land either and they like to come over and make things hard for us, especially at night. A couple of girls were raped up here last year, although they couldn't prove it was or wasn't some of those goons." He paused, shading his eyes as he looked over the wall. "Hey, Tracy, Guy's looking for you."

"Musta found a treasure room." Tracy jumped off the platform and trotted across the dusty road. "Dale, c'mon."

Lindeann watched as the three disappeared into a distant door and turned back to the UNCLE agents. "Well, I guess it's just us for the moment."

"How exactly is this game played?" Napoleon ventured, pausing to wipe his brow.

"You come to the DM and he gives you directions on how to find the treasure room. Of course, he'll only give you a couple at a time and you have to try to figure out if you're heading the right way or not. Along the way, there are traps and monsters to impede your progress."

"What sort of traps?" Illya asked suspiciously.

"Nothing dangerous, mostly trip wires to cherry firecrackers. The monsters are volunteers and they hide in various areas. You guys wouldn't be interested in being monsters, would you?"

"I don't know," Illya interrupted. "I've heard Napoleon called a number of things before, but never a monster. It would depend on whether or not his reputation could handle it."

"Funny, Kuryakin." Napoleon returned to his shoveling. "Sure, why not. It might be interesting." He exchanged a meaningful look with Kuryakin who nodded.

"I agree. What's involved?"

"We give you these little guns that shoot these plastic disks. The DM rolls to see what sort of monster you are and how many hit points you can inflict." Lindeann trailed off at the confused faces. "Never mind, Tracy will explain everything."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say," Solo said.

The morning was spent shoveling, sweeping, and hauling off rubble and debris. All the while, both UNCLE agents kept their attention divided between their task and the distant Thoitus plant.

"Okay, we'll meet back here at 6:30. Make sure you wear black or something equally dark. The players aren't due until 8:00, so that'll give us plenty of time to check the traps and make sure they haven't been sprung and to get the monsters in place." Tracy piled boxes back into the trunk and dusted off his pants. "Who wants a ride back into town?"

"I'm going to stick around for awhile," Illya said quietly.

"Then I guess I need a ride back," Napoleon said, smiling. "If I don't get a shower soon, this stuff," he said, indicating the mud that caked his pants cuffs, "will set."

"It'll be tight, but I think we can manage." Guy looked doubtful, despite his hopeful sentence.

"I'll stay here," Lindeann spoke up. "If Illya doesn't mind giving me a ride back, that is."

"Be careful, little one." Tracy kissed her forehead and flashed a warning look at Kuryakin, but the Russian was studying a distant point.

"Don't worry. He's too small to jump me." Lindeann smiled and stepped back. The car rumbled to life and pulled forward into the courtyard to turn around. When the car was out of sight, Lindeann brushed off her pants and turned back to the blond. "Now what?"

"Feel like a little lunch?" Illya indicated his motorcycle.

"Sure, I worked up an appetite this morning."

The two sat in the shade that a small tree provided and stared back up at the ruins of American Flats.

"What is the charm about this place?" Illya asked, sipping his beer absently.

Lindeann glanced back at him from the stream where she knelt, washing her hands in the spring water. "Don't know really. Maybe it's what the place was that makes it interesting or the fact that it's held up so well even after all it's been through." She shook her hands and then dried them on the tail of her shirt. "It could be that most adults never make it up here and the ones that do, don't really appreciate the spot."

"And what exactly does that make me then?" Illya smiled slightly at her.

"I don't know." She came to sit close beside him. "You tell me."

Illya's smile grew and he reached out to caress her face. He was ready to kiss her when a sharp pop startled him. He sat back at the sound and looked around.

"Someone's in the tunnels." Lindeann sighed, getting to her feet and shielding her eyes against the afternoon sun. "I don't see any cars though. I bet it's the goon squad from next door."

"Shall we go have a talk with them?" Illya offered, standing and dusting off his hands.

"I don't know, Illya. Those guys are regular gorillas and you're," She trailed off, suddenly studying the ground, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean...It's just that you don't look very...dangerous."

Illya shook his head, smiling. "Don't worry about it. It happens all the time, just before I drop someone. You know what they say about small packages."

Lindeann's gaze lifted hopefully. "I just don't want trouble...that's all."

"Tell you what." Illya dug into his right front pocket and pulled out a key. "This is for the bike. Can you drive one?"

"A little, I guess."

"Good. Then you climb on it and go up to the crest of the hill. If I don't show up in a reasonable amount of time or you see something funny happening, you take off and get Napoleon."

"Exactly who is Napoleon?"

"A very good friend to have in a tight situation. Will you do that for me?"

"It feels like I'm abandoning you." Lindeann was doubtfully regarding the motorcycle.

"Nonsense. If there is trouble, it'll be easier for me to not have to worry about where you are."

"Okay, but there won't be any trouble...will there?"

"No trouble at all." Illya pulled the rest of their discarded lunch items together and shoved them into a daypack before smiling at her. "No trouble in the least."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Napoleon Solo was stretched out on his bed, hand behind his head as he read the notes he'd collected in England. Something was still bothering him, something that he couldn't put into words. He was sure there was a link and he was sure that blue wad of plastic had something to do with it, but what?

A knock at his door brought him smoothly to his feet in one easy move. Standing to one side, gun at the ready, he asked, "Yes?"

"Napoleon, this is Lindeann, you've got to hurry."

Solo paused a moment and then opened the door, keeping his gun out of sight. The girl was immediately in, her clothes and hair windblown, her face distressed.

"You've got to come. He said there wouldn't be any trouble, but there has to be, otherwise he'd be out by now. He said I should get you if I got worried and I'm so worried, Napoleon, I don't know what to do..."

Napoleon clamped a hand over Lindeann's mouth to quiet her hysterics. "Now, Lindeann, I want you to catch your breath and calm down. I take it Illya has gotten himself into something?" He sat her down on the edge of the bed and removed his hand.

She nodded vigorously. "We were having some lunch and one of our firecrackers for tonight went off. Illya went to investigate." Her eyes widened as she saw the gun Napoleon had set upon the bureau. "Is that a real gun?"

"Very real, I'm afraid." Napoleon slipped it back into its holster. "How did you get back?"

"The motorcycle. He gave me his keys and told me to come for you if anything happened."

Napoleon sighed and nodded. "Let's go take a look, shall we? Mr. Kuryakin is resourceful, but you can never tell." Napoleon scooped up his jacket and holster together. "Before that, though, let's pay a visit to his room."

Illya Kuryakin pushed himself as flat against the concrete wall as he could and tried to catch his breath. Not-distant-enough voices started him looking around for an escape route. Unfortunately, he didn't know these tunnels very well, except for the few in which he'd helped to install the traps in. The underground tunnels seemed to run forever in just about every direction.

"He's around here somewhere," came a nearby voice and Illya decided to head in the opposite direction, a prudent choice, he thought.

The sand that covered the floors made it hard to get any firm footing and Illya was forced to scramble on his hands and knees to make any headway at all.

"There he goes!" was punctuated with gunfire and Illya urged his protesting limbs on a little faster. He wasn't used to the altitude, and he suspected he was being herded into a dead end tunnel. A sound behind him made him turn and he saw a Thoitus guard bearing down on him, a look of pure bloodlust in his eyes.

Illya saw sunlight breaking in from a side shaft and headed for it. At the end, he saw blue sky and freedom. He turned and darted for it, abruptly losing his footing and he came to a skin-scraping belly flop on the sand. The guard, too close behind him to stop, tripped over him, kicking him hard in the ribs and went out the opening.

A scream brought Illya up and he crawled cautiously to the edge. Twenty-five feet below, the guard's body lay, broken and bloodied. That was too close and Illya shut his eyes for a moment.

"All right, hold it right there, bucko," came the barked order from behind him.

Illya turned slowly, wearily placing his hands on top of his head and mumbling, "No trouble at all."

He was marched through some of the tunnels he used for cover just moments ago, feet slipping on the loose sand, until they came to a hole in the corridor's roof, a mere five inches above Illya's head.

"Up and out you go. Don't try anything funny. I'd hate to have to shoot you in your...self esteem."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Illya said, raising his arms up to heft himself out. He planned to make a break for it, but as his head cleared the hole, three guns were immediately trained on him. "I am flattered at all the attention."

"Don't be. Our boss wants you, not us," the captor said, giving him a hoist. "You seem to be a man of many talents, Mr. Kuryakin."

"You know who I am...finally?" Illya dusted his hands off and looked around for any sign of Lindeann or, even better, Napoleon, but to no avail.

"And what you are," spoke up another guard. "You doing okay, Mick?"

"Yeah, he wasn't so tough. You just have to keep about ten feet back from him."

"Where's Cliff?"

"He didn't stay ten feet back. Went out that one tunnel on the north wall." Mick gestured over his shoulder. "He didn't walk away."

"And what do we do with this garbage?" The tallest of the group poked Illya with his gun and Mick immediately knocked it away.

"You keep your bloody hands and gun off of him, Lee. He's private property. Mr. Dietrick's private property."

Illya spun on the man so quickly that four weapons were abruptly brought to bear on him. "Dietrick? Hans Dietrick?"

"You know him then?" Mick lowered his gun slightly.

"Only too well. Shoot me now."

Lee looked hopeful at the Russian's admission, but Mick wasn't swayed. "Sorry, old man, you're all his." He laughed at Illya's stricken look and pointed towards Thoitus's plant. "There's your new home, Mr. Kuryakin."

"Wonderful," Illya sighed heavily and then his head came up at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Maybe Lindeann had gotten help after all.

"Opps, looks like visitors. Lee, find somewhere to put Mr. Kuryakin so he won't attract attention."

"Like where?" Obviously, what Lee lacked in intelligence, he made up for in wit.

"Anywhere." Mick glanced around, exasperated. "In there." He pointed to the Administration building. "There's a room in the back with no way out. But be quick about it."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Napoleon Solo brought the motorcycle to a stop just on the crest of the hill overlooking American Flats. Sure enough, there were three men in the courtyard, milling about close to a vehicle. He pulled off his helmet and reached into his windbreaker's pocket for a pair of binoculars.

"Do you see Illya?" Lindeann asked over the bike's idle.

"No, but if they are THRUSH...Thoitus, they might have stuffed him some place for safe keeping when they heard us approaching." Napoleon studied the men, who seemed to just be lounging around, poking at various pieces of debris with their feet. "He's down there; those guys are just too casual not to be hiding something."

He tucked the binoculars away and put his helmet back on. That accomplished, he gunned the bike's engine and turned it around.

"Where are you going? He said you'd help." Lindeann screamed over the roar.

"The only way we'll help Illya is by giving them a chance to bring him back out in the open. The only way they'll do that is if we leave."

As soon as they were out of sight, Napoleon again stopped the bike. From another pocket, he dug out a slender silver pen. "Lindeann, listen to me. Take the bike back around one of those rock piles and keep out of sight. When I'm ready for you, I'll signal you by beeping you on that."

"Where are you going?" She didn't appear to really want to know the answer, but obligingly slid forward to take control of the bike as Solo climbed off.

"Back to rescue my wayward Russian. There won't be any trouble."

"Napoleon, be careful. That's what Illya said...just before there was."

"Ah, yes, but unlike Mr. Kuryakin, I am lucky." He tossed his helmet to her, smoothed down his hair and looked about for the best means of approach.

The back of the three-story crusher building made it easy to stay out of sight, but Napoleon found scaling it to be a task of no little effort. Napoleon had a bad moment when a sturdy-looking rung of the rusted ladder abruptly gave way two stories up and left him dangling, but the rung he clung to stayed firm and he was able to continue.

The top of the building gave an excellent view of the immediate area and Solo walked to the east side, stepping carefully upon the crumbling concrete to avoid any noise. When he was close enough, he dropped and crawled the last few feet.

"Anything, Mick?" called a tall man from behind the Administrative building.

"No, I think they decided to split. Probably some kids looking for a place to neck. Get Kuryakin and we'll go."

"Can't" was the short answer.

"What do you mean, can't?" Mick sounded like a man to be reckoned with.

"He sort of slipped going down. I think he's dead. His neck looks funny."

"You idiot! You moron!"

Napoleon pulled back from the edge and rolled onto his back to look up at the vivid blue Nevada sky, trying to ignore the cursing that was rapidly growing more and more blistering.

It didn't seem possible the Russian could be dead and yet it wasn't impossible either. He rolled over again and resumed watching the four men as they climbed to the top of the Administration building and looked down at the roof. Obviously, there must have been a skylight or something of the kind into the room.

Then, the four men abruptly scattered and Napoleon strained to hear the words. They were running, looking, yelling at one another.

"C'mon, guys, speak up. I can't hear you."

"They're looking for me, I suspect," came the softly- accented voice behind him. It was to Napoleon's credit that he didn't go over the edge of the building when he jumped.

"Illya! What in the name of God are you doing here?" Napoleon reprimanded. "You're supposed to have a broken neck."

"Well," Illya said, rubbing the back of it with a scraped hand. "It **is** a little sore, but surely you recall the conversation we had about the stupidity of THRUSH." He sat down, well away from the edge and Solo joined him.

"Then you're sure there's a connection?" Napoleon reached into his grey windbreaker and handed Illya his gun. The Russian took it gratefully, examining the clip before stuffing it into his belt.

"Unless our dear Mr. Dietrich has jumped ship halfway through."

"Dietrich?" And Napoleon Solo sighed, long and hard. "Are we ever going to be rid of that man?"

"Apparently not." Illya rose stiffly and looked to monitor the four men's progress. "Guess the bloody obvious doesn't occur to them. Do you want to depart, dispose, or delay?"

"I'd like to put those four out of commission, but that will probably bring the rest of Thoitus down on our necks," Napoleon said, carefully weighing the options.

"What makes you think that won't happen if they go back without us? From what I understand, Dietrich knows I'm here and probably either suspects you're in the area or near at hand. We are going to have to move fast, old friend and I'd rather have four less people to deal with."

"And I'd rather have four less bodies to have to explain." Napoleon stood, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun. "They say discretion is the better part of valor."

"Whatever you prefer, Napoleon." Obviously, Illya didn't agree, but Napoleon knew the Russian would follow his orders to the letter. "Of course, they will probably overtake us as we leave."

Napoleon held up his communicator. "I do have reinforcements."

"Hopefully, that does not mean a girl on a motorcycle."

"Well, loosely translated," Napoleon admitted, suddenly realizing that only two people could fit on the bike, leaving the third behind to deal with the hostility of the guards.

Illya shook his head and started to walk away, heading for the ladder.

"Illya, wait! Where are you going?"

"To get some decent wheels. I would suggest that you prepare yourself and your 'reinforcement' for immediate departure."

Napoleon opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. After a moment, he pulled out the communicator and opened the channel.

"Open Channel D. Can you hear me, Lindeann?"

"Napoleon?" was the tinny answer. "I'm all ready."

"Good, now listen carefully. Roll the bike out as far as you can, then take off. If I know Illya, he's hotwiring a jeep."

"He's okay?"

"Okay s debatable, but he still in one piece. I want you to get as far away from this place as possible. Don't go back to Virginia City for a while."

"Okay, I'll head over to Silver City. That's about ten minutes down the road."

"Good. We'll see you later tonight. Channel D closed." Napoleon put the pen-like instrument away and started his own descent down the ladder, carefully avoiding the rung that had given him such a bad fright on the way up.

There were still no guards in sight as he dropped the last few feet down, but then he head a gun chamber being loaded and he turned slowly to see a guard emerging from a half buried corridor.

"Hello, Mr. Solo We wondered when you' show up." It was the head guard, sweaty and dirt stained. "Well, we may have lost your partner, but at least we have you." Mick cleared the hole and held his gun steady at the dark-haired agent.

A motor suddenly being revved pulled his attention away for the briefest of seconds and Napoleon went into action. UNCLE had spent considerable money and effort making him dangerous, and while he preferred other means of persuasion, it did not stop him from putting his best fist forward.

It caught Mick neatly in the mouth, spinning the man around and to the ground. When he tried to stand, Napoleon's foot caught him beneath the chin. The man lay still after that and the agent didn't bother to stop and see if he was alive or not, but instead headed directly towards the sound of the engine.

Illya had spun the vehicle in the dust, kicking up great clouds of it - an effective and cheap cover. The other three Thoitus strong arms had appeared and were taking potshots at the Russian.

Smoothly, quickly, but without apparently rushing, Napoleon pulled out his P-38 and exchanged the clip of regular bullets for that of the mercy bullets. They'd put their victim to sleep for a few hours and they'd be none the worse for wear afterwards.

He took the tallest and seemingly the most dangerous one down first, dropping him into a pile of grass and concrete. The second one managed a few stumbling steps before collapsing over the lip of the Administration Building, where he'd been heading for cover. The third man disappeared from view and Illya came rumbling up to him, gesturing wildly.

"You call for a cab, Mister?"

"Yes, Jives, and step on it."

Illya headed for the dirt road that led to the main highway, taking the dips and bumps at bone-jarring speed. He'd put half a mile between them and the Thoitus plant before he slowed.

"Now what?" he yelled to Solo over the motor. "They are going to come after us big time now, if only for revenge."

"Agreed, but what if they thought we were dead already?" Solo looked around, hair whipping in the wind. "Take the left fork up here and slow down fast."

Obligingly, Illya did as his superior directed, his foot nearly sending the brake pedal through the floor as he rounded a turn. The entire road dropped away, leading straight down a few hundred feet into a strip mine.

Illya swore under his breath as he climbed from the jeep and went closer to survey the depression.

"Saw it on that aerial map you have," Napoleon told him as he moved in to have a look. "If we were to send the jeep over the edge, I'd suspect that we could buy ourselves a few more hours of freedom, at least until tonight. It'll be easier to move then."

"Agreed." Illya went back to the jeep, and as an afterthought, began to untuck his shirt. Napoleon watched him for a moment, curious as to the Russian's intentions. It became more apparent as Illya pulled his shirt off, tore it, then rubbed it hard against a scraped, blood-crusted elbow, using the material to soak up the resulting blood. That accomplished, he returned to the edge of the crater and dropped the shirt in. "Your turn." He held out a bruised hand to his partner.

Solo removed his windbreaker, remembering to leave his binoculars in one pocket. He tossed it over to Kuryakin, who threw it back. "They won't know it's yours."

"Let 'em guess," Napoleon countered. Illya shrugged his shoulders and wadded the jacket up. He took careful aim and managed to lodge it in tumbleweed halfway down the sandy wall.

"Okay, I guess that does it." The Russian picked up a rock and hauled it back to the jeep. He set it down behind the rear wheel. He paused to kick sand over the drops of blood on the ground before moving to smear the gear shift, steering wheel and seat with the blood that now trickled down his arm, the flow encouraged by each swipe Kuryakin made over it with a rough hand.

"Must you do that?" The act made Solo slightly queasy to his stomach.

"If it doesn't burn it up, there's going to have to be some blood. Since I'm the one bleeding, it might as well be mine. Are you wearing a tee shirt?"

"Of course, I am." Napoleon was affronted by the question.

"May I have it please?" Illya kept his arm over the car seat.

"Why?" Napoleon asked, even as he started unbuttoning his shirtfront, his eyes on the distant Thoitus plant for any hint of movement.

"I need something to stop this or I'll be dribbling all the way back to the hotel. It wouldn't do to have anyone think we'd made it out of that crash."

Napoleon made a face as he handed the white, brand new shirt to his partner. Illya folded it in half and wound it around his arm. He fumbled for a moment before Napoleon stepped in and knotted the material firmly.

"Thanks," Illya acknowledged. "I guess that does it. I'm going to push in the clutch, can you shift into neutral when I do?"

"Right." Napoleon followed his instructions, feeling the vehicle's movement calm. "One, two, three!"

The jeep moved easily to the edge of the cliff, teetered for a moment, then went over in a shower of sand and dust.

"Good show," Napoleon announced, even as Illya kicked sand over the few remaining drops of blood that had fallen to the road.

"Now, can we go back to the hotel? I think I want a bath and change of clothes now."

Solo patted a bare shoulder and nodded. "You have earned one. Even if I do want to kill you for going into a bad situation alone."

"I wasn't alone, Napoleon...at least, not for long." Illya smiled and the two started to trot back down the road.

CHAPTER NINE

"Okay, I'll be back in a little while," Solo shouted at the closed bathroom door. "Don't fall asleep in there."

Illya leaned his head back and sunk deeper into the tub. "I won't, I'm too hungry for that." The water was as hot as he could stand it and he could feel his muscles relaxing in its heat.

How much actual time had passed he wasn't sure, but he sat up abruptly at an unfamiliar noise. It was coming from the door that led in from the second-floor sunning porch. He rose and reached for his gun, not even bothering to grab a towel. He turned off the light and opened the door slowly.

The sun had dropped behind the nearby mountains and darkness was encroaching upon the room. Illya darted from the door and plastered himself against the opposite wall, gun held at ready. He could see a figure working on the door and as it swung wide, he jumped out, yelling, "Freeze!"

The figure jumped at his voice, wavering in its spot. Illya, eyes still on his target, reached over and flipped the room lights on. One look at the forlorn girl standing there, hands in the air and Illya grabbed the corner of the bedspread.

"Lindeann, what were you doing? I could have killed you."

"I'm sorry, I was worried. There's a report on the radio about a car crash and I thought it might be you. When I saw your lights were out, I got scared. Can I put my hands down?"

"Of course," Illya murmured, wondering how he was going to get from here to the bathroom, while saving his dignity.

"Umm, I like your towel," Lindeann tried to make amends as she came closer. "Are you okay? You seem kinda red."

"Sunburn. I lost my shirt."

"Many people do in Nevada." She looked down. "Your pants too, I see." Then she smiled and Illya suddenly became aware of the fact that he wasn't quite as tired or sore as he thought.

He was pulling on a black turtleneck in preparation for the D&D game, when there was a knock on the door. Beneath the sheets, Lindeann sat up, suddenly fearful of discovery, but Illya held up a hand.

He moved to the door picking up his gun on the way, "Yes?"

"Ready for a little dinner, Mr. K?"

"I'm just dressing, Napoleon. Why don't you go down and get us a table." Illya dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head.

"Oh...all right, see you in a few minutes."

Illya waited for the retreating footsteps, then finished tucking his shirt in and zipping up his fly. He slid into his shoulder holster, saying, "I guess we'll see you up there, although I can't say I'm crazy about the idea."

"It's too late to get a hold of all of them. We can send them home, if you think it's best, but I can't imagine them stopping us. After all, according to the reports, you're dead."

"Am I?" Illya leaned over the woman, kissing her warmly.

"If you are, I want to become a necrophilia," she murmured, returning the kiss, her tongue softly licking his lips. Reluctantly, Illya pulled away and sighed heavily.

"I'd better go before Napoleon starts worrying. I have two passions in life. One of them is eating."

Lindeann kicked the sheet away, revealing her charming state of dishevelment and purred back, "What the other one?"

Illya winked at her and headed for the door, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. Come hell or high water, he wasn't leaving his gun behind anymore. The stakes were too high for that.

The dark-haired agent glanced up from the menu as Illya slid into the chair across from him. "Well, I must say you're looking satisfied with yourself."

Illya refused to react, choosing instead to unfold his napkin and place it on his lap. "Once I eat, I will be. I wonder how big the New York Steak is."

"Any man who can eat an Earthquake after a full meal shouldn't have to ask," Napoleon muttered, referring back to the two-gallon extravaganza he'd watched his partner put away in just a little under a half an hour. The staff at the ice cream parlor announced a new record in conquest of the Earthquake and afterwards Illya announced that he was full, another first.

"You're just jealous, Napoleon. It would have gone straight to your waist," the Russian said, being careful to bend his arm slowly. "Are we still on for tonight?"

Napoleon looked up from the wine list and considered the question. "From what I understand, having spent much more time with her brother than Lindeann herself, there should be about 30 people there tonight. I don't think even THRUSH would be foolish enough to mess around with that many kids. Hopefully, they won't even notice us milling about in the background."

A dark-haired woman approached, pad out, a smile on her lips. "What will it be this evening, gentlemen?"

"I think that I'd like to try your stuffed lobster and my friend here would appreciate the biggest steak you have."

"I can do that," the waitress murmured, as she scribbling on the paper, while casting a furtive glance at the blond man. "Any soup, salad, appetizer?"

A noise above his head caught Kuryakin's attention and he frowned. He knew the dining room was right below his room and he couldn't immediately recognize the sound. "Excuse me for a moment, Napoleon, I...forgot something." He tossed his napkin onto his plate and wound his way out of the room.

Napoleon nodded, brow furrowed with concern. The Russian was acting a little odd tonight, but considering the afternoon he'd spent, Solo reckoned he deserved the privilege.

Illya took the narrow staircase as quickly as his stiffened muscles would permit. He had his key out and door opened in record time, but was greeted only by an empty light-flooded room.

He shut the door behind him and drew his P-38, clicking the safety off with one thumb as he scanned the room for any sign of fowl play. The bathroom was to his immediate left and he pushed the door open wide. It was as he had left it, although a tad less steamy.

That done, he eased all the way into the bedroom, spinning to keep his back to the wall and the closet/bed area in full view. The bed had been remade, with just one corner turned down. On a piece of "Gold Hill Inn" stationery was the impression of a mouth forming a kiss. He scooped up the paper and stuffed it into a pocket.

It seemed normal, but Illya wasn't taking chances. He made a perfunctory search of the closet and fireplace, but that revealed nothing.

He sighed, holstered his gun and shook his head. After a long moment, he returned to Solo.

"Guess my nerves are getting the better of me," he admitted as he sat and took a sip from the vodka Napoleon had ordered for him.

"You certainly have enough reason for it." Napoleon nodded to the nearby waitress, who returned his smile. Solo leaned forward and asked, "What was wrong?"

"Thought I heard something in my room."

"And hoped it was Lindeann?" Napoleon sat back from the table as their appetizers arrived.

"Don't you think of anything else?" he accused the beaming Solo. "Some of us don't plan from conquest to conquest."

"What else is there? If I think about this case anymore, I'll start hearing things like you. If anything, I need to think less. Quite often, I find that helps." Solo held his plate close to scoop one of Illya's stuffed mushrooms onto it. At the reproachful look from his partner, Solo gestured to his appetizer, "Oyster Rockefeller?"

"Uff, no thanks. Besides," Illya paused to cut his mushroom in half, "I don't need them."

"And I do?"

"You should." There was relative quiet while they each turned their attention to their food. Their wine arrived, was poured and Napoleon was appraising it before Illya murmured, "Napoleon, you know, I was thinking..."

"I wondered what that grating sound was," Solo replied deadpan, before breaking into a smile. "You shouldn't leave yourself open like that. What are you thinking, Smart Russian?"

"It's fairly obvious that Thoitus is using the cyanide they're processing for rocket fuel."

"Agreed."

"Why the big mystery then? Why the seven-foot high, barbed-wire fence? Why are they practically killing people to keep them away? Makes me wonder what else they're doing in there."

There was a momentary silence as the waitress cleared away their dishes and placed a salad in front of Solo and soup in front of Kuryakin.

"Well," Solo drawled, pushing his tomato wedge around in the dressing. "Why don't we go in and take a look? You up to it tonight?"

"Why not? I'd hate to wait until I was feeling better. THRUSH could be ruling the world by then." Illya turned his attention to his soup.

"True. I'd still like to know how they engineered those suicides."

"You can ask Dietrick when you see him. I'm sure he can answer any questions you might have."

"While he's gleefully torturing us? Thanks, but I plan to stay as far away from him as possible. Besides, why bother with him when we have all those little D&D'ers to hassle?"

"That's true, I guess we'd better eat up and get out there. After the game is underway, we can sneak off and do some mousing."

CHAPTER TEN

"Sure, Napoleon, you go ahead and do some mousing," Illya Kuryakin muttered, letting a handful of sand sift through his fingers. In Tracy's infinite wisdom as dungeon master, Illya had been placed in the side tunnel by the north wall. He'd taken a cautious look out and down to the rock-and-debris pile where he'd last seen the dead THRUSH. The body had been removed and Illya was certain it was merely the setting sun that made the rocks look blood stained.

On the way up, they had passed by the side road where they had met their own 'demise'. Now, a bright yellow barricade blocked it off and there were still a few people milling about in the area. Whether they were police or THRUSH, they couldn't tell, but it was Napoleon's considered opinion that they leave as quickly as the motorcycle would move.

Now, Illya was wondering if he'd have had a better fate with the THRUSH. He wasn't quite sure what sort of monster a black pudding was, but he knew he'd be hearing about it for weeks after.

"Hey, Illya," came Tracy's voice and the Russian stuck his head around the corner to see a beam of light coming his way.

"One black pudding, present and accounted for," Illya answered, grateful that the man had identified himself prior to his approach.

"That's what I came to talk to you about." Tracy turned off his flashlight. "After all the ragging your friend was giving you, I've decided to change your classification. You are now a vampire."

"Wonderful, when do I start work for the IRS?"

"You're funny. I also wanted to know if you've seen Lindeann lately."

"No, not since this afternoon. I think she told Napoleon she was going to Silver City." Illya felt a warning bell go off in his head, fueled by the still-nagging suspicion from the hotel. "Would you like me to go look for her?"

"Naw, she'll show up eventually, especially if you're here." Tracy turned the flashlight back on. "I should ask if your intentions are honorable, but I suspect hers aren't. We should have the first group coming through in about 15 minutes."

"I'll be ready for them," Illya paused for a moment, then continued. "Will they know what to do?"

"Yup, all you have to do is announce what you are and they'll roll the dice with you on the combat losing table. Leave it all up to them. If they lose, they'll come back and see me. If they win, tell them your prize and get ready for the next batch." Tracy walked back down the corridor and added, over his shoulder. "It's fun, Illya, really it is."

Illya waited until the man was well out of earshot, then looked back out at the darkening Nevada sky. "Depends on what you do for a living."

Suddenly, he heard a soft scraping sound coming down the corridor. It was from the opposite direction as Tracy, so it couldn't be the man returning. Illya squinted at his watch and reckoned that 15 minutes was not up.

The noise grew louder and Illya fought every instinct he had not to go for his gun. Instead, he settled on his flashlight, sending a beam of yellow down the sandy cement passage. It caught a person, who jumped as the beam touched him and then carefully straightened and Illya sighed with relief.

"You consider that mousing, Napoleon?" Illya spoke softly, knowing the man would hear him.

"Just doing as ordered," Napoleon pulled up abreast of him and Illya looked over his partner's shoulder at the contraption he dragged behind.

"To smooth out the sand and make the used tunnels a little less obvious. Do you know how many there are in this place?"

"Several dozen, I should think." Illya sat back down and rubbed his temples.

"Problem?"

"Caffeine headache. Tracy was down here, wanting to know if we'd seen Lindeann."

"Had we?" You could hear Napoleon's grin.

"Not recently," Illya answered quickly, then added. "I just have this nagging little feeling that something has happened to her."

"Like me and that blue plastic glob."

"Sort of. I just don't know..."

"She's all right, Illya. She impressed me as the sort of girl who could take care of herself." Napoleon looked at his watch in Illya's light. "Oops, looks like I better get going. I have a treasure to guard. See you later."

"Yeah," Illya murmured as Napoleon walked away, dragging the weighted sheet of plywood behind him. "By the way, my classification is now a vampire."

"Bet that's a pain in the neck," Solo said, hurrying away before Illya had a chance to respond.

It had been fairly quiet for nearly an hour. One group had come by and Illya had succeeded in surprising them to the point of one guy complaining that he'd soiled his armor. Illya proceeded to defeat them soundly, collect their booty and return to his vigilant lookout. That had been the last of his 'action' though.

Illya flicked his flashlight on briefly to look at his watch and then frowned. Something seemed wrong and he couldn't really put a finger on it. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him and he abandoned his position and carefully walked up the corridor. He had no intention of ending up at the opening they'd taken him out of earlier that day.

The tunnel eventually led him out to a grassy field behind the Administration Building. He climbed up the pile of debris they'd cleaned from the room earlier and peered through the room to the courtyard beyond. Immediately, all his survival instincts went on full alert.

A group of people was huddled there, surrounded by others. What alarmed Illya were the guns the second group sported. Illya ducked down out of sight and eased around the edge of the building, mindful of the jumbled concrete and steel.

"All right, where is he?" Illya determined that it was Mick talking, probably still smarting from the blundered capture earlier in the day.

"Who," asked Tracy. It was obvious that something had gone terribly wrong, but he didn't know what to do about it.

"The UNCLEs. You have ten minutes to hand them over or we start shooting."

"I didn't think even THRUSH were that stupid," came a voice from across the complex. Napoleon was standing in the doorway of a corridor; he'd obviously had the same curiosity as his partner. "You start shooting and the authorities will be all over you and Dietrick. You want us, come and get us."

His answer was a bullet in his direction. The dark-haired agent dodged back into the safety of the tunnel and Mick waved a gun.

"Julius, you and Bert go after him."

"Right, boss."

"Be careful, but not too careful, if you know what I mean."

"Sure enough, Mick, we'll only kill them a little bit."

"Excellent. Kick him once for me." Mick rubbed his chin.

That only left three men guarding the group of D&D'ers. Illya picked up a good-sized rock and threw it as hard as he could. It landed in the middle of a settling tank platform and Mick looked in that direction.

"Hmm, Kuryakin could be down there." Mick spun on Tracy and put the tip of his gun beneath the youth's chin. "Is he?"

After what appeared to Illya to be a battle of conscience, Tracy nodded.

"Good, no use getting yourself killed for that little pint-sized jerk. Darrell, check it out."

Illya watched the obliging man trot away from the group, leaving only two THRUSH agents, and Illya figured he could deal with that. He waited until Darrell had disappeared into a tunnel, taking the moment to thread his silencer onto his P-38. Then he cleared his throat loudly, smiling at the effect.

"Takes a brave man to hold a gun on a group of unarmed innocents," Illya said, conversationally. His first shot dropped the more dangerous-looking of the two and he was left with just Mick to deal with.

"You're a dead man, Kuryakin."

"You wouldn't be the first to try it. But I'll take you with me if I go. Now, toss the gun over here."

"Dream on, UNCLE." Mick grabbed the nearest person, Dale, and held the gun to his head. "You throw yours here."

"Not likely," came Solo's voice again. "Have you ever noticed that THRUSH never seems to know when to give up? You are out-gunned, my friend. Now, if you want to die, that's up to you, but let the boy go."

Mick had no problem making his decision. The gun went into some tall bushes to the other side of Illya. He retrieved it and came from his hiding spot, gesturing the THRUSH away from the group.

"Tracy, you get these people out of here fast," Illya said evenly, so as to not alarm him any more than possible. "I have a feeling this is far from finished."

"You can't be serious. With the plant right over there, you could be overrun within minutes. You'll need help," Tracy protested.

"No," Napoleon said gently as he joined the group. "We do not need help, and if anyone is going to die tonight, it will not be you. Please leave."

"What about our stuff," protested one girl as she was hustled to a nearby car.

"You want your stuff or do you want dead?" was the answer from her boyfriend. Obviously, he'd had enough action for one evening.

The three remaining men were quiet until the D&D'ers had safely departed, then Napoleon shook his head. "Now, Mick, we've got to talk."

"Not likely."

"Oh, I don't know." Napoleon gestured Illya forward. "My partner here has gotten some pretty resolute men to crack fairly easily. His specialty is thumbs."

"Have you ever had your thumb broken, Mick? They never really work right afterwards, even if you do get them set properly," Illya said conversationally, while keeping an eye out for the still-absent Darrell. A missing THRUSH was a dangerous THRUSH and he felt a little like a sitting duck here in the open. "Napoleon, I think first we should move inside. I'm feeling rather exposed out here."

"Good idea. His screams won't travel as far that way," Napoleon agreed, stepping aside and gesturing their prisoner forward, back into the crusher building.

"Kuryakin, how did you get away from Lee this afternoon?" Mick asked as they walked through the tangled mess of weeds and debris.

"If there's one thing I've learned in all my years with UNCLE, it's how to play raccoon."

"Raccoon?" Mick repeated as he stepped over the bodies of his fallen comrades as they lay just inside the door.

"He means 'possum'." Solo explained. "He still has a few problems with his colloquialisms."

"Anyhow, it took him a good five minutes to decide whether or not to tell you, while it only took me less than a minute to make him think I was dead."

"Hmmm," Mick murmured. "I shall have to take that up with him the next time I see him."

"What makes you think there's going to be a next time?" Napoleon looked about him, suddenly uneasy.

"Well, after the mess I made this afternoon, you really don't think Dietrick would have trusted me tonight, do you? Nope, we were just the scouting party. The rest of the gang should be here any second now."

Mick suddenly dropped, scooped up a handful of sand and tossed it into Kuryakin's face. The Russian stepped back, hands going for his eyes. Mick swung on Solo, catching the senior agent by surprise. He got in two punches before making a break for the courtyard and two approaching vehicles.

Napoleon weighted the situation immediately and grabbed Illya by an elbow. "C'mon, old man, we've outstayed our welcome."

"I can't see anything," Illya protested as Solo dragged him along behind.

"Not much to see, I'm afraid. The courtyard is about to be swarming with THRUSH," Solo said, then ordered, "don't rub your eyes. I've got some water down here."

Too slowly for his own tastes, Solo maneuvered the narrow corridor, keeping Kuryakin away from the open pit of stagnant water that ran the entire length of the corridor. Apparently, it must have been used as a channel to move water to the processing and settling tanks. Now, it was partially filled with run-off from the winter snows, as well as other assorted refuse. Solo even saw a half-submerged car farther up.

He got Illya into a cul de sac lit with votive candles, the treasure room. It had been a nice little set-up, the mock treasure chest sat in the corner, piled high with pyrite and draped with velvet cloth.

"Okay, Illya," he murmured as he came to a stop. "Lie down." He guided the Russian to the floor and then pulled him up and let his head hang back over the open waterway. "Now, don't move."

Napoleon left him and went around a partition to retrieve a canteen of water.

"I hear someone Napoleon and something stinks," Illya protested from his rather precarious position.

"It won't take them long to figure out which way we went, especially with all the other corridors raked smooth." Napoleon re-joined him, screwing open the canteen. He used one hand to hold open Illya's eyes and the other to gently dribble water into them.

"Enough," Illya sputtered, blinking and sitting up. "You're drowning me."

"Better?" Solo sat back on his heels and examined the eyes with his flashlight. "They're a little red. Bet they still feel scratchy."

"A little," Illya admitted, repressing the urge to rub them. "What are we going to do?"

Solo helped the Russian up and looked around him. "Not too much left to do. We can hide behind that partition over there or try to make it up the other side. However, I don't give either idea much hope for success."

"Agreed." Illya looked around, still blinking nearly continuously. "Is it my imagination or is there an opening there?" He pointed to a hole half the size of a manhole cover and partially hidden by rocks.

"Could be an oubliette," Napoleon countered.

"Could be our only way out too." Illya pulled his flashlight off his belt and went over to the area. It took just a moment to pull the rocks away and for him to squeeze through the opening.

"Well?" Solo used the time to blow out the candles.

"It's hell on a sunburn. It's a tunnel of some sort. I can feel air coming from the opposite direction."

"This is not my idea of a good time," Napoleon protested, following the Russian. He reached back out and pulled the rocks back toward him, re-hiding the opening. He looked back to where his partner was digging and pushing. "This is as cozy a death chamber as I've seen."

"It isn't a death chamber, Napoleon, not if you'll help me dig."

Between the two it took barely three minutes to widen the crack between the two boards where the cool air gushed forth. Illya kicked the lower board in and then stuck his head through. Napoleon held onto Illya's belt, just in case.

"Napoleon, there's a whole cavern back here," was Illya's muffled response. He forced his shoulders and arms through, using them to drag himself in the rest of the way. A dirt-stained hand reached back through. "Are you coming, Fearless Leader?"

Behind him, Solo could hear voices growing louder and louder. That gave him all the encouragement he needed. He grasped Illya's hand and squirmed his way out, ignoring the board that felt like it was scraping every inch of flesh off his back.

Once he was through, Illya replaced the board and began to repack the dirt and rocks against it, while Napoleon examined their latest find.

"It looks like an old mining tunnel from those support beams," he whispered to Kuryakin. "Hopefully, it leads somewhere."

He fell silent as the voices grew even louder.

"Where the hell are they?" Mick's voice protested.

"They have to be here somewhere," came a second, more reassured voice.

"Maybe they doubled back. Looks like Kuryakin can travel now." Solo heard the canteen hit the wall. "Wonderful. I might as well kill myself and save Dietrick the trouble."

"I'm sure it won't be any trouble. Looks like a hole in the cement over there. You don't think they'd be stupid enough..."

Light filtered through what few cracks Illya hadn't managed to fill with the dirt. Involuntarily, both UNCLE agents crouched down, making themselves as invisible as possible.

"Nobody in here, Mick."

"Just my luck. Okay, let's try going back up the other side. Maybe they got by that way."

As the voices retreated, Solo let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding and ran a hand through his hair.

"Talk about skin of our teeth," Illya muttered, flipping his flashlight on and sending the beam out into the tunnel. "Doesn't look like anybody's been down here in years."

"Probably one of those abandoned mining tunnels that Lindeann was talking about. I hear they honeycomb the mountains, even the main street of Virginia City." Solo was in no real hurry to move from his present spot.

"Not surprising. You know how some people are when they smell money. They'll dig through steel for it." Illya swung the beam around. "Which way do you suggest we go?"

"I'd follow the breeze." Reluctantly, Napoleon stood. "I'm not so sure we shouldn't wait for them to call off the search."

"That could be hours, Napoleon. You know how THRUSH is once it smells blood." Illya rubbed his elbow gently. "Besides, with any luck this will bring us out miles from here."

"Could bring us out in the middle of the Bucket o' Blood Saloon too." Napoleon started to walk, automatically taking the lead.

"Good, I wanted to see the Suicide Table anyhow..." Illya fell silent at Solo's glare and they stumbled onward, tripping over mounds of earth, timbers, stones and discarded debris. Gradually, the flooring became more level, the tunnel better preserved.

"Looks like someone has been here fairly recently," Napoleon noted, giving the flashlight an encouraging shake. "Look, there's a ladder." The flashlight sputtered and went out. "Typical." He turned to his partner. "Where did you get this?"

"Out of the lab. Not much of a light, but it has some concentrated plastic explosives, charge and matches in it too. I thought that outweighed the other."

"Could be useful, in its own modest way," Napoleon admitted. He handed the instrument back to his partner. "I think I can see some light up at the top. Shall we climb up and see if anyone's home?"

"Be careful. I don't know how secure the ladder is. It could give way." Illya looked up from his task of returning the flashlight to its holder.

"Not any worse than the one I climbed in the crusher building." Napoleon wiped his hands on his pants and began to climb, testing each rung before putting his entire weight on it. Beneath his hands, the wood felt rough, but solid, giving the impression that it was fairly new.

The darkness gradually gave way to light and Napoleon sped up as he came to trust the ladder more. Abruptly, he stopped, causing Illya to whisper, "Napoleon, what's wrong?"

"We have come to a dead end. There's a cover up here. I may need your help." He pushed against it, but it remained firmly in place. "I definitely need your help."

"Okay, hold on." Illya leaned to one side and climbed past his partner. He continued until his head was bent and his shoulder was resting against the metal. He tested his footing. "Are you ready?"

"On three. One, two, three." Muscles strained and the cover protested the pressure a moment before giving way. They managed to slide it back enough so that Napoleon could poke his head out and survey the surroundings.

White washed cement walls and lights made him blink painfully until his eyes grew used to the additional brightness. He looked around and then ducked at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"You are not going to believe this," he whispered to Kuryakin.

"I might. What's up?"

"We are in the middle of the Thoitus plant."

"You're right, I don't. How did we manage that?"

"Beginner's luck." Napoleon ventured another look as the footsteps faded.

"We are hardly beginners, Napoleon." Illya shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Are we going to stand here all night or what?"

Solo stuck his head full out of the hole and studied the immediate area. "Everything looks clear. Let's go." He wiggled out and sprinted for a nearby niche. He'd barely managed the maneuver when he again heard echoing footsteps. He gestured Illya down and pressed himself back into his little corner.

Two guards passed in front on him, holding a squirming and protesting Lindeann between them.

"I don't know anything about anybody's uncle," she complained, her feet slipping on the smooth concrete floor.

"If you're telling the truth, then you've got nothing to worry about. Mr. Dietrick will decide that."

At the mention of the name, Napoleon saw Illya start, then retreat. The moment the guards had turned the corner, Kuryakin was out of the hole and at Solo's side.

"We have to get her out of here," he murmured. "Dietrick will smash her to pieces, just to determine that she doesn't know anything."

"Agreed, but we can't act in haste," Solo said calmly. "Let's see if we can find a 'You are Here' map."

Guns drawn, every trained instinct on full, they moved forward, slowly picking their way through the unfamiliar building. They came to a large, open area where huge stainless steel tanks sat on wide concrete pads.

"This should be the settling room," Illya explained, darting looks left and right. Apparently satisfied, he turned back to his partner. "The gold is still mixed in with mine tailings, so they add water and cyanide and let it settle out. Then they drain off the liquid and collect the gold. Although I have a feeling that's just a front to get lots of cyanide without many questions."

"What about that big blue pond outside?"

"The water they use for processing. There was one just like it by American Flats. It's long since evaporated."

"Very good, Mr. Kuryakin. You have done your homework as usual," came a too-familiar voice from behind them. "Now, turn around and dispense with the hardware."

Slowly, both agents turned and faced a grinning Hans Dietrick.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"We're really something, you know that?" Napoleon Solo leaned back against the cool concrete of their cell. "No wonder they brief the new trainees about us; we must be their perennial bad example."

Illya Kuryakin looked over from where he sat on an iron bunk, chin resting in the palm of his hand. "I am forced to agree. Perhaps I should take back the comment about us not being beginners."

The door clanged suddenly and swung open. Both men came to their feet, Kuryakin a bit slower than his partner. The combination of the tunnel, sunburn, the steady 58 degrees inside the plant and the day's exertion had stiffened just about every joint he owned, plus a few he'd forgotten about.

Disheveled, dirty, but still fighting, Lindeann was shoved into the cell and the door slammed behind her.

"Come back here and fight, you cowards," she shouted, spinning upon the closed door without recognizing the room's occupants. She heaved a sigh, then turned back, her anger disappearing as she saw the two men. "Boy, am I glad to see you guys," she said, running up to them and embracing first one, then the other.

"Lindeann, what are you doing here?" Napoleon asked, smiling at Illya's grimace of pain.

"I was in your room when these goons grabbed me," she spoke directly to Illya, giving no indication of letting go of him. "I gave one of them a good kick, but it didn't help much."

"Your room, huh?" Napoleon asked his partner, who shifted uncomfortably for a moment before pushing Lindeann away.

"Please, my sunburn," he explained. "I heard the thump, but I must have just missed you."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot." Kuryakin's withdrawal didn't seem to faze her. "They've had me up in the head goon's office for most of tonight." She stopped and walked a little away from them. "He kept asking me about my uncles. I didn't understand then, but I do now. He means you two, doesn't he?" She thought for a moment and then continued. "And he didn't mean my uncle, he means the UNCLE...doesn't he?"

Illya exchanged a look with Solo and the American nodded, approaching the woman with great care. Some people did not react well when they discovered they'd been hanging around with spies. "That's exactly right, Lindeann. Illya and I were sent to discover why this company killed six..."

"Seven," Illya corrected, sitting back down.

"Seven scientists," Solo glared at the blond.

"You're UNCLE agents," Lindeann repeated. "Well, that certainly explains a lot of things now." Suddenly, she drew in her breath, her gaze going from one man to the other. "You've got to get out of here. He's planning to kill you. He told me. He's going to..."

Solo again clamped his hand over her mouth to silence her. "We know what he's planning to do, Lindeann. He's got a debt to settle with both of us and we with him. However, there is a rather stout door between us and freedom."

"Only for a couple of seconds more," came a muffled voice and the familiar face of Tracy appeared in the barred window of the small cell.

"Tracy!" Lindeann was delighted to see her brother.

"What in the name of..." Solo trailed off. Illya merely rubbed his throbbing temples, knowing that nothing else was going to surprise him.

"I told you to take off," Solo protested, coming closer to the door.

"I know," Tracy said, working with the lock. "And we did, but then a few of us decided we should take a look around in here, so we stripped the dead guys you left back there and walked in the front gate with the rest of these bozos."

"Our cup of innocents runneth over," muttered Illya as he stood, wanting desperately to rub his eyes, peel off his clothes and curl up in a corner until he woke from this nightmare.

"Guard, stand aside. You know the rules about talking to prisoners," ordered a familiar voice and Mick's face replaced that of Tracy. "Hello, guys, are you having a good time?"

"Are we supposed to be?" Napoleon asked conversationally.

"Well, you're going to be dead soon, so you should make the most of each moment just like our little friend was doing before we nabbed her. You didn't really fool us this afternoon, you know. You only managed to ruin a good jeep." Mick raised a key for the three to see. "And now, it's time to go talk to Mr. Dietrick. Which one of you will be first?

"I will," both Solo and Kuryakin chorused.

"Is this some kind of vaudeville act?"

"Napoleon let me." Illya's voice was firm. "After all, it's really me he wants, not you. Besides," Illya said, rising slowly to his feet. "With the way I'm feeling, there's not much left he can do to me."

"Illya, as your superior," Solo trailed off at Kuryakin's stony look. I'll last as long as I can. You have the luck to get out of here, to get the authorities, it promised Solo. . Reluctantly, Solo offered his hand as he passed and Illya took it nodding.

"Napoleon, you can't let him," wailed Lindeann before launching herself at Kuryakin.

"He doesn't have much choice, love. He's next." Mick opened the door to allow the Russian to exit.

"I'll be okay, Lindeann. You just listen to Napoleon." Illya kissed her forehead and then pushed her out of his way. "Let's go and get this over with," he said to the THRUSH.

CHAPTER TWELVE

For a long moment, there was silence in the cell and then Lindeann spun on Solo, her fist raised. "Why did you let them take him?" she demanded angrily.

"He's buying us time, Lindeann, the only way he knows how," Solo said softly. "He's making a tremendous sacrifice, considering how much Dietrick hates him. The best we can do now is to not disappoint him." Solo walked to the door and whispered, "Tracy, are you still there?"

There was a pause, then an answer, "Still here."

"Good. Have a couple of your people follow them. When you get us out of here, we're going to need to know where they've taken Illya."

"Right." There were muffled commands and then Tracy returned. "Okay. Let me try this door again."

"Hurry, Tracy, hurry."

Illya Kuryakin walked quietly along the corridor, appearing broken and surrendered to his fate, while he was actually memorizing the twists and turns they took. He had no intention of lying down and dying for Dietrick, Solo or anyone else, not if he had the chance to escape. It was easier now to play along and conserve his strength.

"Okay, right here," Mick directed, pointing to a door. He knocked and at the answer, pushed it open and Kuryakin in with it.

Illya stumbled a step or two, recaptured his balance and stood upright, looking his supposed executioner in the face.

The man was tall and gaunt, with bright red hair and a malevolent look on his face, but it was the eyes that held Kuryakin's attention. They burned deep green, with an inner rage. "Hello again, Mr. Kuryakin. I say it was a pleasure to see you, but we both know I'd be lying."

Illya took an involuntary step backwards. "Hello, Dietrick," he managed after a moment.

"Very good, Mr. Kuryakin, you remembered. Of course, how could either of us forget one another?" The man stood and walked toward him, a riding crop slapping against one thigh. "Guard, leave us and do not disturb me, no matter what you might hear. Mr. Kuryakin and I have some old times to relive."

Tracy looked up from his task, twice interrupted by approaching guards. "Finally," he muttered, yanking open the door and was nearly knocked over by Solo's haste.

"Call your people," Solo ordered. "And make it look like we're your prisoners."

"Right," Tracy complied, pulling his rifle up to aim it at them. Napoleon put his hands on his head and indicated to Lindeann that she should do the same. Tracy lifted the walkie-talkie that hung on his belt and thumbed the switch open.

"Roger, Dale, where are you?"

"You know that first corridor we passed coming in, the one by the settling tank cut-off?" returned Dale's voice.

"Yeah?"

"We're up by it about four doors on the left. It's been pretty bad, Tracy." There was a pause. "I think he might be dead."

"Mr. Kuryakin is playing raccoon again," Napoleon murmured to a confused Lindeann.

"Raccoon?" she repeated.

"At least let's hope so. Can you get us there, Tracy?"

"Sure, but I think it's too late."

"It had better not be. Let's go," Napoleon urged, glancing around them, in case they were being observed

Tracy gestured with the gun and growled, "Move it, scum."

Napoleon glanced at him over his shoulder and then moved out as Tracy directed.

"What's going on here?" questioned an officer as they rounded a corner. Tracy jumped to a brisk salute before replying.

"Taking them to the old man."

"That's Mr. Dietrick to you, slime." The man's contempt was clear, although whether it was for Dietrick or Tracy, Solo couldn't decide. "This must be the other UNCLE that's been pestering our operation."

"Yes, sir, but he won't be any longer. He's going to the Happy Hunting Ground."

"Beats the Old Spies Home," Napoleon said amiably before continuing, "and it sure beats working around all this rocket fuel."

The reaction was immediate and violent. Solo was grabbed by his turtleneck and practically dragged from his feet.

"Who told you that? Was it this worm? Tell me or I'll kill you."

"No need to get so dramatic," Solo said calmly. "My partner was able to figure it out from the computer disks."

"And where is that partner now?"

"Mr. Dietrick is having a heart-to-heart with him."

Napoleon was released and he smoothed his sweater down before smiling back at the man. "You should really try to control that temper of yours."

A hand was raised, but Tracy stepped in front of Solo, raising his rifle to protect himself. "This man is Mr. Dietrick's personal property. I'll have to ask you to step aside, sir."

The officer looked confused for a moment, then lowered his arm and retreated. "Just know this, slime, I never forget a name or a face. You step out of line once; I'll hear about it and you'll pay...you'll pay dearly."

Tracy watched the man storm away before sighing. "Talk about close calls." He motioned them forward. "What was all of that nonsense about rocket fuel?"

"As far as we can tell, THRUSH has been manufacturing some sort of rocket fuel here. We don't know why yet."

"That's easy," Lindeann replied. "The major manufacturing facilities for rocket fuel went up about a month and a half ago. The plant was just outside of Las Vegas and about 1000 people lost their lives or livelihood because of it. Now, NASA has nowhere to go for the rocket fuel. Do you think?"

"With THRUSH anything is possible. How much farther, Tracy?"

"Just a little more." Tracy lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Dale, are you still there?"

"Yeah, but it's awfully quiet in there. Either Kuryakin has passed out or..."

"More likely he's fallen asleep," Solo interrupted, doing his best to keep Lindeann from panicking.

They came to the corridor and one of the two people standing mid-way up the hall waved to them. Tracy urged them faster, trying to keep up with Solo's near run.

"Okay, you guys stand back," Solo ordered as they approached. He took Tracy's gun and gave the door a kick. It swung back with little resistance and Napoleon glanced cautiously inside. The sight of his partner's limp body made him set his jaw and dare to enter the room.

"The rest of you, get in here and bolt that door shut," Solo ordered. "Just stay back for a minute. Let me assess things." He had no idea what sort of damage Dietrick had inflicted on the Russian and wanted to spare his rescuers too gruesome a sight.

Napoleon propped the gun up against the edge of a mahogany desk and went to the chair that held Illya. Steeling himself, he turned the chair slowly around, pushed the limp figure back and frowned.

The man's face was flushed, slightly bruised, but basically untouched. Solo loosened the straps that held Illya in place and quickly began to feel his arms and legs, fingers probing for broken bones. Satisfied, he lifted Illya's turtleneck and examined the sunburnt chest and stomach, looking for any bruises. No sign of injury there either.

Napoleon straightened, confused. Illya's shirtsleeves had been pushed up past his elbows, but the skin revealed no hypodermic marks.

"What did he do to you, old friend?" Napoleon asked, then looked beyond the blond to where he sat. He was in front of a computer, the screen now blank.

"Napoleon?" came Lindeann's quavering voice. "Is he dead?"

"No, he's not. He's...fine. I don't understand." Napoleon scanned the immediate area and his gaze fell upon a blue floppy disk. "What in the name of...?"

The man in the chair began to stir and Lindeann took a hopeful step forward, only to have Solo gesture her back. "Sorry," Solo apologized. "I have to be sure. Illya? Illya?" He slapped a cheek gently. "Are you with us?"

Glazed blue eyes opened and stared up at Solo and then the blond head nodded. "I'm okay, Napoleon." Illya broke off to gasp several times, obviously trying to clear his head. "I feel…"

"Where's Dietrick?" Napoleon helped Illya to his feet, keeping a firm grip on him until the swaying stopped.

"Top drawer," Illya mumbled, trying to hold his head up.

"Dietrick's in the top drawer?" Solo repeated, incredulously. He pulled the top drawer of the desk open and nodded. "Not Dietrick, our equipment. Great! Illya, heads up." Solo tossed a P-38 to the Russian, who barely managed to catch the weapon.

"What now?" asked Tracy from his position beside the door.

"I don't know." Solo abandoned the Russian for a moment, going back over to the computer and poking the blue disk. In the few minutes he'd been away, the plastic had started to dissolve. He was getting more confused by the moment. Suddenly, shouts broke into his train of thought.

"NO!"

"Illya, don't!"

Solo spun, dumbfounded as he watched Illya raising the P-38 to his temple. Unlike the others, who watched in frozen horror, the sight immediately catapulted him into action. In three long strides steps, he was at the Russian's side, wrestling to get the gun from him. However, Illya was just as strong and just as determined.

Solo saw no other way out. "Forgive me, old friend," he murmured and brought his knee up as hard as he could between the Russian's braced legs. The other men in the room involuntarily gasped as Illya's eyes suddenly cleared for a moment before he squinted them shut in pain and fell to his knees, gun and task forgotten.

Napoleon grabbed the Walther and tucked it into his belt before kneeling beside the Russian.

"Illya? Are you okay?"

The head nodded, then Solo heard the whispered, and "You're going to pay for that, Napoleon. Wait until I get you in the next self-defense class."

"You're okay," Solo slapped a shoulder and Illya moaned. "Oops, forgot about the sunburn, sorry." Napoleon looked at the four who were still a healthy distance from the pair of UNCLE agents. "In time of desperation, pain usually overrides just about everything else."

"Including fatherhood, I imagine," Lindeann said, approaching Illya slowly.

"Probably. He won't bite you...now." Napoleon stood and helped Illya to his feet.

"Or for a long time to come. Did you have to do it so hard?" Illya complained, still frowning and wishing he were alone.

"It was either that or have you blow your brains out your ear." Napoleon leaned over the now-destroyed disk

"Beg pardon? Did I miss something?" Illya straightened slowly. "When did you guys get here?"

"You tried to kill yourself," Lindeann explained. "Napoleon had to stop you."

"Kill myself?" Illya took an experimental step, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, and then tried another. "Napoleon, why I would I kill myself before you kicked me? Now it would make at least a little sense. Some answers please?"

The American turned back from the computer and shrugged his shoulders. "You tell me. When we got here, you were passed out in front of this computer. Dale and Roger said you were screaming up a storm and I thought you'd be dead."

Illya closed his eyes, forehead creased in thought. "They brought me in, we exchanged opening pleasantries," he touched his mouth in memory. "I think one of my teeth is loose. Then they hit me with some kind of tranquilizer, I guess. I don't remember anything else until just a couple minutes ago and I'm wishing I could forget that too."

"You're sure it was Illya you heard?" Solo turned back to the pair, who nodded.

"No, it was me, Napoleon. My throat is raw, but I don't know." He trailed off as he approached the computer.

"Did it have something to do with the computer? You were strapped in front of it." Solo caught a muscular arm as the Russian suddenly started to sway.

"I'm okay, Napoleon."

"That's what you said before," Solo protested, moving him away from the computer. "Do I have to hit you again?"

"You do and I'll be forced to defend myself," Illya retorted, sitting on a corner on the desk and breathing deeply. "I'm just really light-headed."

"I think it's time to move," Tracy interrupted from the door. "Somebody's coming."

"I fully agree," Illya replied. "Let's blow this place." Illya stood and wobbled towards the door. Napoleon returned to the desk drawer and pulled out Illya's flashlight.

"Shall that be literally or figuratively?" He tossed it to the Russian, whose reflexes were improving.

"Let's shoot for literally."

"Excellent choice." Solo joined them, appeared to reconsider for a moment and then handed started to hand Illya back his gun. The Russian pulled away.

"I think you better keep that, Napoleon. I feel...something that's not right."

"Whatever you prefer." Solo returned the gun to his belt and turned to the four. "Okay, Tracy, you get yourselves out of here. In a few minutes, this place is going sky high."

"We'll stay," protested Lindeann, as her brother and friends nodded in agreement.

"No, you'll go." Solo was firm. "Illya has a handful of explosives here. We're going to ignite the rocket fuel. We can get us out, but not you. So, please go."

"Excuse us for a minute," Tracy said, turning his back to the UNCLE agents. There was mumbling, then he spun back around. "Okay, we're leaving, but we're bringing the police and the fire department back with us."

"That's fine. Go up to the Ponderosa and bring Ben Cartwright and Hoss if you want, just please leave." Solo was sharper than he intended, but precious moments were ticking away.

"All right, it's settled. Good luck, guys," Tracy said over his shoulder as they slipped out the door, leaving the two agents alone.

"Are you ready to travel?" Solo was still concerned by Illya's condition.

"Until whatever they gave me wears off, I'm afraid I'll have to be." He shook his head and nodded to the door. "Shall we go before I collapse into a pile of jelly on the floor?"

"Not so fast, Mr. Kuryakin." The sound of Dietrick's voice stopped him in his tracks. "You surely didn't think I was going to let the pair of you waltz out of here."

Solo spun, trying to locate the voice, but it seemed to fill the room.

"Now, put your gun down, Mr. Solo and stand away from the door." Napoleon did as ordered, pulling Illya with him. "Very good, Mr. Solo. Unlike your partner, you know how to follow directions." Dietrick appeared from behind a partition and nodded. "Excellent. Now, if you'll step away from Kuryakin please."

"No such luck," Solo stood firm.

"Then I shall have to shoot you both," Dietrick said, pulling back the machine bolt and chambering a round. "I'd rather not have to."

Reluctantly, Solo took several steps away from Illya, who, as he predicted managed a few moments to stay upright before dropping to his knees. Dietrick picked up the discarded P-38s and knelt beside the Russian.

"Now, Mr. Kuryakin, this is Mr. Waverly speaking. Can you hear me?"

"Yes, Sir," Illya mumbled, head drooping.

"You're on a suicide mission, Mr. Kuryakin and there's a THRUSH in the room with you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

Dietrick turned to Solo and grinned at him, the movement turning his face into a grotesque mask. "You see, once we broke through his programming, the rest was easy."

"That's why he was screaming," Solo replied, deadpan.

"Yes, he put up a good struggle, much more than all those scientists did. His mind was much more interesting to play with. It's a shame that we didn't leave him much afterwards."

"And now you're going to convince my partner that I'm a THRUSH and he's to kill me before he kills himself."

"How quickly you catch on, Mr. Solo. This is why it's always a delight to deal with you."

"Before that, tell me why you killed the scientists."

"Well, we didn't kill all of them; two were accidents and one was a genuine suicide."

"The blue disks have something to do with it."

"Hypnotic suggestion refined to the ultimate." Dietrick gestured to Kuryakin. "Do you think we could have reduced him to this in any other fashion? You have too high an immunity to truth serum and all that trash. No, this is much cleaner, surer and enables one to be so creative. Now, if you will excuse me." He turned from Solo back to Kuryakin. "Now, Mr. Kuryakin, there is a THRUSH here. He's going to shoot you. You must kill the THRUSH, then yourself. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," was the mumbled response. Dietrick grinned and forced the gun into Illya's hand. He rose and stepped behind the blond.

"It's been nice knowing you, Mr. Solo and you, Mr. Kuryakin. I think I'll stay just long enough to make sure he kills you. You don't mind, do you?"

Napoleon watched as Illya stood, eyes glazed, gun pointed straight at him. "No, of course not. After all, that's part of the game, isn't it?"

"But this is no longer a game." Dietrick said with satisfaction.

Napoleon looked at his partner. 'Please let this work,' he prayed silently and then shouted as he dove for the desk. "Illya, behind you, THRUSH at twelve o'clock!"

Without hesitating, the Russian spun and emptied three bullets into Dietrick's chest before the man even had time to react. The German looked down at the blood and then raised his machine gun, but Illya had moved, taking refuge behind a chair. The machine gun's bullets cut a pattern into the stucco ceiling before the man collapsed entirely.

Napoleon leapt from his hiding place, tackling Illya to the ground. They grappled for a few moments until Solo heard the strangled, "You kick me again and it's all over. I get a new partner."

Solo pulled away from Kuryakin, permitting the man to sit up. "You're not going to shoot yourself?"

"Not intentionally." Illya brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked over at Dietrick. "Is he dead?"

"He took three rounds point blank, you tell me." Solo stood and walked to the body, nudging it with his toe. "You had us both going there."

"Sorry, I had no way of letting you know I was okay. The post hypnotic suggestion was too weak for him to use it a second time. It's nice to know you can build up an immunity to that too, not just truth serum."

A pounding on the door interrupted him and an anxious voice called out, "Sir, are you all right in there? We're having some trouble out here. Solo has escaped...sir."

Napoleon exchanged a glance with Kuryakin, who shrugged his shoulders. "Find him, you imbecile, find him and bring him to me," Solo barked in a fair imitation of Dietrick.

"Yes, sir," was the stumbling answer. "Right away, sir."

"Not bad, Solo," Illya murmured as he stood and joined his partner. "Shall we dispose of this?"

"Yes and I know right where to put him." With that, they hefted the German and carried him to the computer. Solo strapped him in and patted him on the shoulder. Illya placed the machine gun on the body's lap and plopped a hand on top of it. "With any luck, they'll think he killed himself."

"At least until they take a good look," Illya countered, pointing first to the pool of blood on the floor and then at the ceiling. "Now, I think it's time to leave. Shall we try his tunnel first?" Illya gestured to the wall where Dietrick had appeared, then bowed his head against his arms and took a deep breath.

"You okay?" Solo was instantly at his side.

"Yeah, but their programming runs deep." Illya mumbled before raising his head and smiling slightly. "I think I need some fresh air."

"Then by all means." Solo walked to the wall and examined it. "I don't see an escape hatch."

"It's got to be something close at hand. Try the picture."

Solo lifted the painting and the wall obligingly slid back. "Next stop, the settling tanks."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"You do, of course, know where you're going." This came from a doubting Kuryakin as the pair wound their way through the concrete tunnel.

"No, not really, but I figure that Dietrick must have been able to access just about any part of the complex with this route. Otherwise, why put it in?"

"To confuse roving UNCLE agents, maybe?" Illya stopped, pointing to a door. "Shall we try that?"

Solo shrugged his shoulders and thumbed the door opening mechanism. He stuck his head in and a woman screamed. He retreated and shut the door hastily. "Women's locker room."

"Didn't know voyeurism was among his many talents."

"That's our Mr. Dietrick." Solo indicated another door. "I wonder where that goes." The door opened and he ventured another glance. "It's down by the cells. The settling tanks are just around the corner."

"Great," Illya said, patting the lethal flashlight on his hip. "I'd say it's time to celebrate July 4th."

They crept towards the huge tanks, keeping eyes open for guards and the like. They were within ten feet of the stainless steel, three-story drums when Solo caught Illya's arms. "How much of a delay do you have on that thing?"

Illya unscrewed the end of the flashlight and dumped out a long, snake-shaped mass of plastic explosive, a coil of wire and three matches. He unwound the cord and held it up for Solo to inspect. "That long. I hope you can run fast."

Napoleon regarded the length of cord and shook his head. "With that on my heels, I will." He looked around and then pointed to the still-partially open manhole cover. "How about down there?"

"Whole roof could collapse on us."

"Can you think of any other way you'd prefer to die?" Solo countered, pressing up against the wall to avoid detection by the passing guards.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I can - about a hundred other ways, if you want to press," Illya whispered from his spot of the floor. He kneaded the plastic for a few moments and then shaped it into a ball. "I'm going to plant this on the back of that nearest tank. Cover me."

With a quick glance left and right, Illya sprinted over to the tank, sliding as much of his body between it and the wall as possible. He stuck the explosive to the metal with a splat and buried the ignition cord deep into the plastic. He looked over at Solo, who nodded the all clear, and struck a match.

It took just a second for the cord to catch, sending Illya scurrying back to his hiding place with Solo.

"Now, exit stage right."

They were inches within reaching the manhole when a voice called out behind them.

"Hold it right there, slime."

Solo looked over his shoulder at the officer that had stopped them previously. A spark of recognition flared in the man's eyes, but was quickly extinguished by Solo's bullet.

"Come on, Napoleon," Illya urged, already down inside the tunnel. The American took one last look around before following his partner.

They struggled with the cover for a moment and then rapidly descended the ladder. Illya reached the ground first, trying to decide which direction to move in.

There was a rumbling from above and dirt began to fall. "Hurry, Napoleon, the whole roof's coming down."

A sharp crack drowned him out and Illya abruptly realized the ladder had let go. He heard Solo shout, then fall just to the right of him.

"Napoleon?" Illya groped his way to him. "Are you okay?"

"I think my leg is broken," was the strangled response. "You've got to get out of here."

"Not without you," Illya insisted, finding the man in the dark and kneeling beside him. Ignoring the protests, he got Solo upright and they started making their way through the mining shaft. Dirt and rocks rained down upon them and an ominous rumbling filled the air with dust.

Illya lost track of time as they struggled. He only knew they had to keep moving and he gradually became aware that the dirt had stopped falling and the floor was growing more and more rough.

"Napoleon, I think we've reconnected with the old tunnel. Why don't you say put for a minute and I'll go see what I can see?"

Solo mumbled some sort of response and obligingly settled where Illya deposited him. Kuryakin took a deep breath and moved onward, slowly, one hand in front of him, the other above his head. The tunnel was gradually narrowing, sloping upwards. Fresh air played across his face and he smiled in relief.

He followed it for a short distance before coming to a rude stop against a planked wall. He nodded and felt around until he found a rock, using it as a hammer to dislodge the boards.

"How's a man to sleep with all that racket?" complained Solo from behind him. Illya spun, looking at where he figured Solo to be.

"I thought I told you to stay put."

"Got a little nervous back there," Solo admitted. "When I heard you pounding, I figured you'd found something...hopefully, a way out."

"You are correct." Illya returned to his task, feeling one of the boards giving way beneath the rock. He paused and took a few deep breaths. Immediately, Solo's hand was on his shoulder.

"You okay?"

"I'm supposed to be asking you that. You're the one with the broken leg. It's just that drug. Every once and awhile, it creeps up on me. Hold tight, we're nearly out."

A few additional well-placed blows and a second board followed the first. Illya set the rock down.

"This time I mean it, stay here." Illya said, waiting for Solo's grunt before sticking his head through the hole he'd made and looking around. The mouth of the tunnel was just a few feet away and through it he could see a star-filled Nevada sky. "We're out, Napoleon." A pause and he tried again. "Napoleon?"

"He's decided to take a little nap."

Illya frowned at the voice and shook his head. "Haven't we gotten rid of you yet?" In the dim light, he could make out Mick's shape as well as Solo's crumpled form.

"No, you can kill Dietrick, you can blow up our plant, but you still have me to reckon with." He moved closer and Illya could see the metal of his rifle barrel glint in the sparse light. "You see, I finally figured out you'd come up through the tunnel. So, I went down and waited for you. Nearly killed me when the tunnel collapsed, but I had my vengeance for you to urge me on."

"Revenge is an ugly thing," Illya murmured, swaying slightly. "Do you mind if I sit down before you kill me? I'm still pumped full of that tranquilizer of yours."

"That's good stuff, isn't it?" Mick's tone was less hostile. "We gave some to one of our prisoners and pulled out his teeth. Never even knew it."

"Thank you for sharing that with me," Illya sighed before sitting down on a large rock.

"Also heard that Dietrick broke through your programming. Guess that makes you pretty useless to UNCLE now."

"That's entirely possible."

"So why not turn yourself over to me? Join THRUSH."

"Are you kidding?" Illya laughed out loud. "If you can break me, what use would I be to your organization? Once it happens, it gets easier each progressive time after that. I couldn't be trusted. Nope." Illya leaned back against the wall. "The way I figure it, I'm just about used up as far as being an agent goes. You might as well kill me and save me the trouble of doing it later."

Mick hesitated, unsure of what the agent was up to. "You're bluffing."

"No, I'm not. Give me your gun if you don't have the stomach for it." Illya reached out his hand.

"No way, man, this is a trap." Mick retreated closer to Solo's fallen form.

"Fine, then I'll use my own gun." Illya pulled the Walther out of his belt and slipped the barrel into his mouth.

Napoleon was aware of dirt pressed up against his face, in his nose and mouth, but more than that he was conscious of Kuryakin's words. He opened his eyes and saw Illya in the half-light, the gun in his mouth. He couldn't get there in time, not with his leg, so he did the best he could.

"Illya, NO!"

Mick spun at the voice, having forgotten about Solo, and Illya used the opportunity to neatly shoot the THRUSH, dropping him with a single shot.

He stood and examined the body, then went to a struggling Solo's side. "Are you okay?"

"Wonderful, I get beaned and when I wake up, you're trying to shoot yourself."

"Sorry, but I was hoping you'd think that. I was just worried that you might not come to in time." Illya helped Solo up and he noticed the fallen body for the first time. At his questioning look, Illya answered, "THRUSH, one of them followed us."

"Looks like that was his last act in life."

"Afraid so. Shall we go or do you like it in here?"

Illya climbed between the still intact boards, then helped his partner through, keeping as much weight off his leg as possible. Solo winced a couple of times, but otherwise was silent, using the pain as a prod to keep himself going.

Dawn was just starting to tinge the distant Sierra's a soft red as they emerged from the tunnel and into the open.

"Well, that sure blew what otherwise could have been a good evening," Illya complained, helping Solo to a rock. "I'm going up on that crest to try and get our bearings."

"I'll wait here." Napoleon was content to sit for the moment, a dirt-crusted hand rubbing the back of his head.

Illya nodded, then climbed up the hill, using the sagebrush and weeds to help him get some traction on the sand. He made the top and looked down onto a valley. A mile away, the rocket fuel from the Thoitus plant still burned. In fact, the azure pool of water was on fire as well. True to his word, Tracy had summoned several emergency vehicles, which were parked just outside the plant, but it looked like they'd given up trying to contain the flames.

Satisfied, he slid back down the hill, frowning as his shoes filled with sand.

"We've got about a mile to go, Napoleon. Can you make it?" Illya squatted in front of the man and ran a hand down the extended leg, feeling for a break. Solo was quiet until Illya made it to his ankle, then his back straightened.

"Ah, a little care, Mr. Kuryakin."

"I am happy to report that I don't think your leg is broken. I think you've got a twisted ankle. Not that that's any less painful, mind you."

"Thank you, Dr. Kuryakin."

"You're welcome. Do you want to try or shall I bring back the cavalry?"

"No," Napoleon said, standing. "With a little help, I think I can make it."

They were nearly there, rough sandy hillsides giving way to a packed dirt road when they were spotted. Solo's limp was enough to bring two paramedics sprinting in their direction.

"What happened?" one shouted as they approached.

"We were spending the night in a mine tunnel and it collapsed on us," Illya lied easily. After all, it was partially the truth: they had spent the night in the tunnel and it did collapse. The fact that it was of their own doing seemed an unnecessary addition. "He twisted his ankle on the way out."

Illya gladly relinquished Solo to the pair and began to brush himself off, walking towards the plant as he did. He looked up when his name was shouted and saw a group of people running towards him.

Lindeann caught him with enough force to knock him over. "We thought you were dead."

"We never die, didn't you know that?" Illya carefully extracted himself from her embrace. "I see you were good to your word, Tracy."

"Yup, this has been covered by every TV station around here. It's the biggest thing that's happened since they built the freeway."

"Were there many survivors?" Illya asked. They started back toward Solo.

"Quite a few," Dale answered eagerly, still in his Thoitus jumpsuit. "You sure lead an exciting life, Mr. Kuryakin."

"It does appear that way, doesn't it?" Illya smiled, shaking his head. "But you know what they say about appearances."

"Speaking of such," Lindeann interrupted, "You two are sure a mess. What happened?"

"We used an old mine tunnel to escape. The cleaning lady had been noticeably absent down there. Don't say anything to Napoleon. He's a bear about housekeeping."

"Right." Lindeann knelt beside Solo, who was doing his best to keep from flinching as the men worked on his leg. "Hi, Napoleon, what do you guys do for an encore?"

Solo smiled at her. "We write reports."

"Hmm, boy, that does sound exciting." She looked back at Dale, who had left them to rejoin the crowd around the plant. "I think you may have a new recruit there."

"Better him than me."

"It looks like you've got a twisted ankle here, Mr. Solo," one of the paramedics broke in. "We'd like to take you in for some X-rays, but if you promise to get to a doctor, I think we can let you go."

"Wonderful. Lindeann, can you recommend someone?"

"Sure, we have one in Reno. He's really good."

"You heard the lady, gentlemen. If you can make that travelable, we'll be out of your hair."

"All right, but you are going to rest it, aren't you?" the paramedic asked doubtfully, looking up at Kuryakin, as if he was the one to be trusted. "What about your friend? He looks like he could stand a little help to."

The sun broke over the mountains, sending out rays of sunlight. Illya thought about the night before, the close calls, the near death they'd both faced, the physical and mental toll their efforts had taken on them.

"I'm fine. Believe me when I say, we all deserve a rest," he answered. "Right, Napoleon?"

"Absolutely."

EPILOGUE

Tracy Nugget, very dapper in his tuxedo, grinned at the pair in front of him. "Will there be anything else this evening, gentlemen?"

Illya straightened and replied, "Well, now that you mention it..."

"Illya!" Lindeann cried, aghast. "Just exactly how much can you eat?"

The Russian smiled cryptically at her and lifted his wine glass. "Remember what you asked me last night?" he asked softly. At the pink tinge in her cheeks that followed, he nodded. "The same answer." He turned back to Tracy. "No, I think that will do it, unless Napoleon decides to carry out half the wine cellar with him."

Tracy looked toward the back of the room, at the door that led to Le Moulin's wine cellar. "You should see him and Alain. They are having the time of their lives back there. Alain really enjoys talking to someone who's as knowledgeable in wines as he is. Your partner could always get a job as a sommelier."

"I'm sure he could, along with a hundred other jobs. He's very skilled."

Tracy glanced over his shoulder and nodded. "Excuse me."

"You really should have told Napoleon that your brother was a captain here." Illya said, touching his glass to Lindeann's. "We would have gotten here much sooner. To the completion of yet another successful affair," he toasted.

"Were you telling the truth last night?" Lindeann asked, sipping at her wine.

"Ye of little faith. I suppose you want additional proof?"

Lindeann's response was interrupted by the approach of the maitre'd who was carrying a phone. "Excuse me, I have a call for Mr. Solo."

"I'll take it." Illya sat up as the man plugged in the phone and handed him the receiver. "Kuryakin," he murmured and then grinned. "Arsene, what are you doing in New York?...yes...that's right, they were just starting it when we left...what?...everything?...that's incredible...no, I'd better tell him myself. He'll take it better from me. We'll see you in a couple of days." Illya hung up the phone and sighed.

"Illya, what's wrong?" Lindeann was concerned by the man's abrupt change.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong. All to the contrary." Illya drank some more wine, then continued. "You see, just before we left, Napoleon's landlord decided to redecorate his apartment. The reason for it is still not clear. Anyhow, they apparently got this incredible nouveau designer to work on it. He asked Napoleon if he liked granite and Napoleon responded that granite was fine, so..." He paused for another drink of wine.

"So?" Lindeann urged. "Granite's not bad."

"You don't understand. Everything is granite. The floors, wall, ceiling, even the bathroom fixtures."

Lindeann thought for a moment, and then asked, "Where do you get a granite toilet?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, but he did." Illya glanced up and spotted Solo emerging from the back of the restaurant, still talking with the sommelier. "Don't say anything," Illya urged as Solo, still using his cane and limping returned to the table.

"That was incredible, Illya, you should really have gone with me. There is wine back there to kill for..." Solo trailed off as he studied the faces of his two companions. "What's wrong? What happened while I was gone?"

"Happened?" Illya repeated. "Why, nothing happened, did it, Lindeann?"

"Ummm, no, not exactly." Lindeann giggled from behind her napkin.

"Mr. Kuryakin," Solo used his best professional voice. "What is going on?"

"Nothing, really, Napoleon. I just have a feeling people are going to be taking you for granite for a while."

T.H.E. E.N.D.


End file.
